


Rhythm & Bruise: Gaara's Story

by Darkprism



Series: Monoshizukanohi [10]
Category: Naruto
Genre: (Past) Underage abuse, (past) abuse, ALL THE NC-17 STUFF, Alcohol, Anal, BDSM-related material, Bloodplay, Bondage, Character Death (Minor), Cutting, D/s Relationships, Dark fiction, Drugs, Fluff, Gangs, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Knife Play, Language, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Oral, Rape, Self-Harm, Southern accents randomly in my world, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Toys, Unusual relationships, Violence, battles, bullet wounds, cross-over, solace, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-01 06:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 100,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12150756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkprism/pseuds/Darkprism
Summary: The streets of Monoshizukanohi are not kind to youth, and Gaara is no exception. After running away from an abusive home, Gaara struggles to find meaning in life through violence, drugs, and anything he can manage to survive. Join Gaara and a wide cast of characters as they go from the streets to the top of the social strata. It's rags to riches, despair to hope, loneliness to love, and everything in between.





	1. Chapter 1

The raccoon paused in the middle of the two-lane blacktop. The pavement was warm in the summer air, and the scent of death floated on the light breeze. A skunk – young, dead for a while – lay in the tall grass of the ditch on the other side of the road, the carcass bloated. The raccoon wanted no part of that – he wanted fresh meal worms or, if he was lucky, a back porch with a bowl of the dry, crunchy stuff the two-legs put out to feed their tame beasts.

Though some of those tamed beasts weren’t so tame. There was a cat that owned a piece of the raccoon’s tail. The raccoon remembered the pain – inasmuch as a raccoon remembered anything.

The ground vibrated and the raccoon froze for a half-breath. Small, five-toed feet clawed for purchase on the pebbled pavement as the rumble got closer, and he made it to safety just as a blinding light and massive hunk of metal roared by the raccoon and the quite-dead skunk.

Eyes watched in the darkness and then the raccoon skittered away in search of quieter night climes.

***

All four wheels of the 1956 Cadillac left the pavement as Gaara hit 110 over a bump and hit who-the-fuck-knows on the speedometer when the car got air for a tenth of a second before landing with a sickening, banshee screech.

“Oh fuck me – did we just fly?” Jody McIntire asked from the floorboards of the backseat.

“No,” Gaara replied, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel and blue-green eyes shot through with red streaks. He hadn’t slept in four days.

Cocaine was a bitch.

A sweet bitch with a pretty voice.

…but not as pretty as her sister heroin’s. Now THAT bitch could sing a siren song that would leave no sailor with breath to tell tales.

And both sisters screamed harmony in Gaara’s bloodstream as he took a curve on the dark road at 90 just to feel the tires grip and the suspension shudder.

“Fuck me,” Jody said again. “You sure? ‘cause it felt like flyin’.”

Next to Gaara in the front seat, Sicko laughed and braced his unlaced boots on the dash. Gaara didn’t like that, but he didn’t say anything. Sicko was unpredictable – especially when he chased the tiger. He was older than Gaara – who, at fourteen and four-feet-nine-inches could barely see over the massive steering wheel. He managed it with Jody’s jacket under his ass and a lot of practice.

“The fuck’s funny?” Jody drawled from the backseat. Gaara wasn’t sure why he was in the floor. Maybe he liked the feel of Paint’s sneakers on his stomach. Weirder things and all that.

“Death, man – he’s hilarious,” Sicko rasped. Someone a couple years back put a knife in Sicko’s throat, and that made talking challenging for him now. The two-pack-a-day habit didn’t help…or maybe it did; Sicko and Death were old friends, and Sicko never made bones about wanting to get up close and personal with his old pal.

“I don’t really wanna die tonight, if that’s cool,” Jody said, one hand reaching up to grip the back of the front bench seat. Gaara’s unblinking gaze flickered to the rearview to watch Paint curl up in the seat to let Jody up. The big, sandy-haired man took up a lot of room. At sixteen, Jody stood more than a foot taller than Gaara and weighed in at least twice as heavy.

“No,” Gaara said again. His fingers flexed on the wheel and his shoulders rocked with the high, his teeth clenched against the racing pulse and semi-sickening sensation. Nothing was better than blowin’ Brother – and the speedball was good enough to make Gaara’s gums ache.

Paint curled up into a ball in the backseat, and Jody pulled the tiny man into his arms protectively. Paint didn’t talk. No one was sure if it was a lifestyle choice or actual handicap. Jody made Paint wear a whistle around his neck so he could scream through plastic if he needed help – a habit Jody enforced ever since Gaara’d found Paint getting roughed up at both ends by two Devil Dogs last year. The Dogs regretted messing with the youngest member of Gaara’s pack. Jody left them a couple digits short of five-finger discounts.

Gaara watched Jody tuck the small, Asian boy under his arm and Paint stared into space. They called him “Paint” because he, well, painted. Or drew pictures – whatever he could do with whatever he could use. No one said Gaara and Jody were particularly creative in the nicknaming department. Sicko was…well, sick. In the head and body, usually, and Paint…well…

“’s cool, boss,” Jody said to Gaara, and he smiled at Gaara in the mirror, big white teeth flashing. Even high Jody had Gaara’s back – and Gaara was nobody’s fool. He kept the big man right where he needed him. Jody’s sheer size had kept the two out of more brawls than in them.

“But…listen, shit. Death’s fuckin’ talking again…he says we need to go faster. Push it, boss…go on…” Sicko crawled over to Gaara on the seat and put his hand between Gaara’s legs without preamble. “Drive ‘er fast, boss…and I’ll suck ya good…” His dark teeth flashed and Gaara observed that they were the same color as his hair…and that was strange. And faintly disgusting, Gaara thought dimly.

But cocaine sang that sensation was nice and heroin didn’t argue.

Gaara didn’t reply with words, but he shifted his hips forward and slammed his foot on the pedal. From the backseat, Paint whimpered.

“Aw, little dude, it’s okay,” Jody rumbled, hugging Paint. “Gaara and cars…they’re like…well, things that really go together. Cake and ice cream!” Jody grinned at Paint and Sicko got Gaara’s zipper undone. Gaara really didn’t care about the blowjob…he wanted the road, and he wanted the high to last.

“Fuckin’ love ice cream,” Sicko rasped before he sucked Gaara’s half-hard dick into his mouth. He used teeth, and Gaara’s lips parted in a silent groan even as his gaze stayed crazed but steady on the road. It was straight, thank the gods, and not heavily traveled. To the right were trees full of hanging moss occasionally caught by the Caddy’s headlights. Gaara thought the moss looked like clumps of corpse hair: like there were hundreds of dead women caught in the trees.

Beyond the trees on the right were a beach and the ocean. To the left were trees and beyond them a happy commercial district full of Starbucks and kids who managed to stay kids until they were 18. The woods ran on both sides of the dark highway and made the road look like a long corridor to nothing.

Gaara rather liked that idea. The road to nothing and nowhere…he wondered if he could get to the end. And if he did, he wondered if the pain would finally stop and the nasty voice of his father would die a bloody, painful death that started with the ripping of testicles and ended with blood pouring from the eyeballs.

Sicko moaned and sucked at Gaara, who put the pedal to the floor. Paint lurched forward and wrapped his skinny arms around Gaara’s shoulders.

“Gaara, you’re scarin’ Paint,” Jody said, words only slightly slurred.

“Yeah,” Gaara said. He was. And he didn’t care. About anything at the moment, though Sicko’s tongue was doing a pretty decent job of getting him hard and making him wet. That could just be Sicko’s drool though…Gaara wasn’t in total communication with all his body parts – cock included.

“We need to get the Caddy to Vince in one piece or we ain’t never gonna get enough cash to get the hell out of town,” Jody pointed out helpfully.

Gaara said nothing, but his eyes flashed up to meet Jody’s in the mirror and his foot eased up on the accelerator.

“Just sayin’, boss. You know I’m with you.” Jody’s hazel gaze was intent and honest.

Paint’s arms hugged around Gaara’s neck and oxygen became harder to come by. He said nothing, and Sicko worked his magic, moaning with wet, sloppy noises. Sicko reached a hand down to stroke himself through his black jeans and Gaara found his attention divided between the road, the high, and the sight of Sicko wanting to get off with Gaara in his mouth.

Gaara pried one hand off the steering wheel and jerked at Paint’s arm. The boy – because hell only knew how old Paint was; definitely south of fifteen, maybe south of ten – made a soft noise and nuzzled Gaara’s neck. He did it when he wanted something – food, warmth, more paint, not to die in a blazing wreck of metal.

The problem was, however, that Gaara did – at that moment – want to die in a blazing wreck of metal. It would suck that they would all go with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to really feel regret over that. Nobody would miss them…nobody would care. They’d get shallow graves in the poor man’s part of some cemetery marked with stones that said, “John Doe 1” and “John Doe 2.”

“Here lies Gaara…everyone wanted him to die.”

“What was that, boss?” Jody slurred. He’d sunk back against the seat, eyes glassy.

Gaara didn’t repeat himself, but he did dimly feel an orgasm approaching. Sicko worked him and Paint slid his hands around Gaara’s neck. It was an old pattern, and Gaara didn’t try to stop him. The gesture still confused Gaara – it’s not like he ever explained the finer points of erotic asphyxiation to the kid. But for whatever reason, when Paint was around and Gaara was getting some, the ancient child was there with cold hands to press on a windpipe.

Breathing labored and hands numb, Gaara kept the car between the lines – the two on the edges of the road. It was four in the morning and nobody but the devil walked these woods at this time of night.

And the devil would have his hands full if he met the car full of street kids high on badly cut drugs in a boosted Caddy on their way to a chop shop run by a sometime-pimp who was as likely to hit them as he was to pay them.

Gaara’s head tilted back and he bucked into Sicko’s mouth. Paint’s hands slithered and pressed with the exact right amount of pressure, and Gaara looked hard at the trees on the right. There was a break coming in half a mile – hard and fast. Gaara’s amped vision could see it well enough, and without thinking too much – because that was both impossible and undesirable – Gaara jerked the wheel of the Caddy toward that gap with reflexes that were the gift to the young and stupid.

Jody yelped when the car hit ditch and kept going. Paint clutched reflexively on Gaara’s throat, and Sicko bit down a little hard on Gaara’s dick just before his mouth came loose. Gaara gasped and came as the car plowed through saplings, undergrowth, and tore away a chunk of a cypress. The boys jerked in the car, and Gaara saw it all in slow motion: his seed spraying into air and onto clothing, Sicko bouncing and hitting the windshield, Jody bracing against the roof of the car and grabbing onto Paint’s body with the other hand. Gaara felt a dull thud when his head hit liner and then the car cleared the trees and the tires squalled on rock and sand.

When Gaara opened his eyes, the world was moving at normal speed. He pushed away from the steering wheel with a wince and looked around the car, dazed and nauseated. Sicko was leaning against the passenger door, laughing the insane laugh of the terminally crazed. Jody and Paint weren’t in the car – the back door was open.

Gaara turned his head and it felt like his neck was made of wooden spikes that broke when he moved. The pain shot through him like a sobering medicine, and Gaara tasted blood when his lips parted to gasp.

“Fuck, boss,” Sicko said. “You’re…”

“Where’s Jody?”

“Paint threw up. Jody got him outside to let him finish. Holding his hair, I think…fucking sweet man.” He coughed; a wet, harsh, slick sound.

Gaara faced forward. He couldn’t count the places that hurt, so he didn’t try. He looked at his hands and saw blood. Staring and fascinated, Gaara raised a bloody knuckle to his lips and licked at it.

“Shit,” Sicko said, sliding forward on the seat. His nose didn’t look too good, and one cheekbone had a gash. Gaara tried to think of how that happened – why the slit skin, where was the broken glass? Were they pressure cuts?

Then his brain went on the fritz, and he got lost in the taste of his own blood.

“Lemme,” Sicko said softly. “Sacred, man…let me drink you.”

Gaara didn’t move as Sicko leaned over and reverently licked Gaara’s cheek. He stayed still as Sicko groaned and worked to eat at Gaara’s blood like a vampire fledgling with minimal control. The leather of the seat creaked under his weight, and Gaara looked ahead of them and saw the ocean.

“You taste like wine, boss,” Sicko whispered.

Gaara shoved him away and got out of the car. He didn’t want Sicko’s tongue any more than he wanted other body parts. He didn’t care about sex or orgasms or relationships or the lack thereof. These boys worshipped Gaara for whatever reason – Jody the saner voice of the bunch.

But Gaara didn’t want worship…he wanted what he lost a long time ago. The thing he searched for and couldn’t find, no matter how many bags of powder he went through or how many bottoms of bottles he saw. It was the thing he didn’t find in his father’s mansion or in his uncle’s illicit embrace. And it was the want of such a thing that drove Gaara nearly insane with searching and with being tied to a body on this rock in space.

“Meaning…” Gaara whispered, voice carrying on the ocean breeze.

“Boss?” Jody asked from the darkness behind him. “You good?”

Gaara lifted one hand and gave Jody a peace sign without looking back. It was an old symbol – one that could mean they needed to go, trouble ahead, all’s square, need better shit, or leave me alone.

Right now it meant Gaara was with him – and that’s all Jody cared about.

“Paint’s cool,” Jody said. “But Sicko just coughed up blood in the front seat.”

“Some of it’s mine,” Gaara said before he left the car and started walking toward the water. On the way he tripped and fell at least twice, but he didn’t mind that so much. The sand burned in the wounds on his hands and some of it got in his eyes. It felt good. Like getting off or sucking on strawberry candy – Gaara’s favorite.

When his sneakers hit water, Gaara stopped and looked down, almost startled at this new reality of shell and salt water. Tears streamed down his cheeks because of the sand in his eyes, and he thought about his mother. Of hospitals and gowns and tests and calm voices…of vomit and urine and the nasty chest rattle of the dying.

_Please…please don’t hurt me…_

_I’m sorry…_

Gaara looked down at his hand and thought about the first time he held a gun. He wished he had one now. He could put a bullet in his leg and watch the blood drain away onto the sand: life sucked up by unforgiving grit.

_Do it like this…stupid fuck of a kid. You want in or not?_

_Yeah…_

_Then do what I fuckin’ tell you, bitch!_

_Please…please, god, no…_

_Sorry..._

“There is no God,” Gaara said to the swirling vision of a crying boy and to the unrelenting ocean. He remembered initiations and screaming and his first experience with real pain: watching it, making it happen, feeling it himself. Gaara told lies to stay alive and he told more lies so that he could move through life like a ghost. The Sons of Saints was just the first stage when he was fresh on the streets. They ruled the part of town where Gaara landed after the bus fare ran out.

_I’m sixteen._

_You a cunt is what you is…you what, twelve?_

_Fourteen._

He’d been ten. And small. And breakable. And to be a Saint, you earned it with kills of the unworthy. Purging the masses. Honor and glory be unto God.

And as it turned out…Gaara was very, very good with weapons. And very, very bad with God.

Sicko may talk to death; may be on good terms. But Gaara’d looked the asshole in the face several times, now.

And he was one ugly motherfucker.

“Boss?” Jody said quietly. “Can I see?”

Gaara nodded and Jody came around Gaara, feet splashing in the water. Jody touched Gaara’s face, tilted his head left and right. These three were the only ones allowed to touch Gaara, and Jody was the only one Gaara allowed to look him over after a fight or…car wreck.

Jody took off his shirt – the outer one, anyway. He wore a tank under his t-shirt. Holding Gaara by the arm like he was a little boy, Jody wiped Gaara’s face and the back of his hands. It felt…calming. Not good, exactly, but not wrong.

“Car’s okay,” Jody said, tucking his bloody shirt under his arm. “Boys are all right. Dunno about Sicko…think he might…be hurt.”

The thought that Gaara was responsible for Sicko’s hurt skittered through his mind, struggled to find purchase, and then was gone. He didn’t care if he hurt him. Or killed him. Gaara just shook his head and shrugged.

“I know, boss, but we can’t just let ‘im die, either.”

Gaara looked at Jody, head tilted to one side.

“Well, what,” Jody mumbled. “He’s one of us for what that’s worth…we could take him to a shelter?”

Gaara sighed and looked out at the water.

“I’ll do it, boss. After we get the car dumped. There’s a place…I can do it.”

Gaara looked at Jody and nodded. “Fine,” he said at last.

“Thanks, boss.”

The drugs made Gaara’s ears ring…but they were fading. Adrenaline stole the sirens’ conviction…thieving bitch.

Gaara turned to walk back to the car and stumbled. Jody steadied him without comment, and they got back to the Caddy. It was a tough beast…dinged and scratched with one missing headlight, but the engine purred and Gaara thought the car looked at him as he approached.

“Now what?” the Caddy asked. “Gonna cut me up and make me scream?”

Gaara and the Caddy looked at one another in something like mutual understanding. And just like that, Gaara made up his mind.

“Jody,” Gaara said, stopping.

“Yeah?”

“How much do we have?”

“A few,” Jody said. “Sold that ounce and made a bit, but we could really use more. Why?”

“Because we’re not going to see Vince.”

Jody shifted his weight. “He won’t like that.”

“I know.”

“And Sicko?”

“Drop him on the way out. Lighten the load. Heavy up the cash.”

“Where we going?”

Gaara thought about it. “Monoshizukanohi.”

“The city? But…”

Gaara looked at Jody, one pale eyebrow lifted.

Jody swallowed and nodded. “Anything you say, boss. I’ve got yer back.”

“Then let’s get the fuck off this beach. I hate the ocean.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ And here it is: my favorite story in all of my fanfiction, and damn near my favorite thing I've ever written. "Monoshizukanohi at Night" remains one of the things I'm most proud of writing. This story is personal and dear to me. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for reading.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [45 - Shinedown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sz4ipOHyMd8). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.  
>  __  
> In a box high up on the shelf, left for you, no one else  
>  There's a piece of a puzzle known as life  
> Wrapped in guilt, sealed up tight
> 
>  _What ever happened to the young man's heart_  
>  Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart  
> Swimming through the ashes of another life  
> No real reason to accept the way things have changed  
> Staring down the barrel of a 45  
>   
> ∞ Let's remember: GAARA IS A SOCIOPATH AT BEST AND A PSYCHOPATH AT WORST - he is unbalanced, violent, and dangerous. Kiba is crazy in that, "Why CAN'T we get naked, slather ourselves with honey and bait, and feed the rabid Tasmanian devils?" kind of way. It will take a LOT for Gaara to pay attention to Kiba, and it'll take a special _kind_ of skillset to get his attention in the first place. I get a lot of hatemail on this story, and that's fine - opinions be cool - but be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ I also get a ton of questions about Jody. Here's the thing: when I started this story, I basically moved so far out of "fandom" and into my AU that I stopped caring whether or not this is technically a "Japanese" or "Anime-friendly" country. Jody was the first character who really wandered in from New Amsterdam - which is really where this story takes place, and less Mono - and decided to hang out for a while. So forgive my not-quite-Japanese-but-with-a-Japanese-name-country weirdness. It's AU. It happens.
> 
> ∞ Fun fact! Jody wasn't supposed to live past the first three chapters. You can thank Azazel999 for his survival.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


	2. Chapter 2

Gaara opened his eyes and blinked in morning sunshine. The tiny apartment had two windows, and one of them was right above the damned bed. Gaara cursed and made mental note to tack up an old shirt or something over it. Gaara didn’t do mornings.

“Hey,” Jody said and Gaara rolled over and sat up in bed. The sheet fell down to his waist, and he was hot despite his bare skin. The sun beat into the room, and Gaara felt a devastating headache coming on.

“Hey,” Gaara said to Jody’s broad back. Jody sat on the edge of the bed, near the bottom corner. He wore jeans and nothing else, and a cigarette burned ash between his fingers.

“What?” Gaara asked.

“Paint’s dead.”

Gaara fell back on the bed with the news. Not because he really cared for Paint…but because Jody did. Jody was the affection in this partnership, not Gaara. And Jody got bleak when the people he loved died.

Since the only person Gaara came close to loving was himself and maybe Jody on more sober days, he didn’t understand that on anything more than a purely intellectual level. And Gaara was more than fine with that.

“When?” Gaara asked.

“Yesterday.”

“How?”

“Overdose.”

“Who told you?”

“Sphinx.”

Gaara sighed. They’d been in the city for three years. Sicko was long gone – who knows what happened. They dropped him off at a clinic and kept driving. Jody didn’t really like that, but it was deal with it or leave Gaara. So he dealt.

Paint stayed with them for the first year and a half…through the streets and the deals. Through Jody finding a job as a mechanic and Gaara selling body, soul, and anything in between to cover the rest. Paint gave Gaara a portrait of the three of them done in blacks and grays and then left one Wednesday morning. Jody had held the portrait and cried while Gaara watched, passing him a bottle of cheap vodka and waiting out the emotional torrent that he couldn’t understand and didn’t want to.

Gaara liked being dead inside – it made this life easier to stand.

And now there was this shitty apartment with the tiny gas stove and the two windows. It was just Jody and Gaara; everyone else they knew was dead. Most people assumed the two men were lovers, but Jody was – actually – straight. More or less. More so than Gaara who liked men more than women. Females were too soft. He liked hard lines and hands that felt like they could kill him as they held him down and fucked him raw.

Gaara knew Jody liked holding him…and thought sometimes that maybe Jody would like more. But Gaara didn’t want it. Sex was just something else one did: like eating or shitting or sleeping. And Gaara only had the vaguest of grasps on what the word “relationship” meant, and most of that knowledge read like an entry in Hell’s Dictionary. He didn’t need sex or closeness.

He didn’t really think he needed at all…nothing…no one…it was all…

“Empty,” Gaara whispered.

Jody crawled up the bed and wrapped his arms around his friend. Gaara took the cigarette from him and pulled a drag while Jody tucked his face into Gaara’s thin chest and cried silently. The sun came through the window and Gaara let the cigarette burn his skin as it went out.

***

Darkness and screaming. Echoes of footsteps in the hallway. A man’s laugh and a woman’s indignant, “Fuck you!”

The noises mixed and swirled in Gaara’s oversensitive ears. His ribs felt like they were going to break as he dry-heaved into the metal bucket of sick next to him on the floor. Gagging, coughing, eyes wide and unseeing, Gaara fell back onto the dingy rug over blackened tile. His clothes were long gone, he was filthy and covered in a sheen of sweat and other things, and he couldn’t make the angels go away.

“We love you, Gaara,” said a voice from above.

Lying flat on his back in the tiny, grim apartment, Gaara watched a hundred small angels dangle from nooses attached to the swirling blackness of the ceiling. They were all busily swinging and tearing off their own wings in bloody, feathery, chunks. The chunks and the bright red blood that flowed from the wounds fell and hit the floor around Gaara with soft, patting sounds. It made him jump and twitch and writhe.

“We’re never going to leave.”

Gaara clutched at his head; the voices were high and sharp. Needles to his brain.

And then the angels started to sing –

_Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye! Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie!_

\- in the voice of one of Gaara’s old nannies. She used to read him rhymes and fairy tales before bed. Gaara gagged and managed to get to the bucket to throw up again.

_When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing! Oh wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before a king!_

Gaara covered his ears and moaned. Reality kept shifting. One minute he was back home in his old twin bed with his Uncle sneaking down the hall to put a hand over Gaara’s mouth and a hard dick up Gaara’s ass. The next minute he was in a hospital with his mother’s dead eyes gazing at him, one tear on her cheek. He was in the street with a needle in his arm. He was pointing a gun at a crying man and pulling the trigger.

And through it all the damned angels watched and laughed and sang in the sweet voice of someone Gaara wanted to trust.

Hell has nothing on the dreams of dying addiction.

Gaara had no idea how long he’d been like this, but it felt like eternities. Eons of ache. Centuries of cannibalistic pain.

He wanted to die.

_The queen was in the parlour, eating bread and honey. And the maid was in the garden hanging up the clothes!_

An angel jerked free of its noose and flew down to Gaara on broken, blackened, wings. It looked like his father – if his father had pointed teeth and yellow eyes.

“And along came a blackbird and ate off her nose!” The angel screeched in Gaara’s face.

It took a long time for Gaara to go hoarse from screaming, and the noise mingled with the other sounds of misery in the tenement building and the city, unnoticed and unremarked.

***

And just when death seems the only option, you wake up in a soft bed with a warm hand on your back.

“Gaara? You with me?” Jody’s voice.

Swallowing on a dry throat, Gaara slowly turned over. He felt delicate and fragile and like he might loose pieces of himself if he moved too fast. But his skin and hair were freshly scrubbed and he wore one of Jody’s old shirts. How did he…? Where?

Gaara jerked his head to look up at the ceiling and saw that it was bare of crazed angels. He sighed in relief.

“Hey, nothin’ wrong, boss. You’re okay.”

Gaara turned a sore neck to look at Jody and started to say something. Jody shook his head.

“I should kill you for doin’ this while I helped Sphinx move.”

“If you’d gotten here earlier, I would have let you,” Gaara croaked.

“I did get here earlier boss, and you did ask. Rather nicely, actually.” Jody grinned. “But you know I couldn’t go and do that, so I just got you clean and let you thrash around for a while.”

Gaara noticed then how tired Jody looked despite the easy words and the gentle smile. Guilt – a relatively new emotion, still in its infancy in Gaara’s mind – started to give a little hungry cry.

“Had to,” Gaara muttered. His head felt leaden lying against the damp pillow, and even his eyelids ached.

Jody nodded once, mouth drawn. “Somebody shoulda been here with you.”

Gaara rolled his head from side to side and choked on the bile that tried to rise as the room spun.

“Easy,” Jody said softly, one hand coming up to push on Gaara’s damp forehead. The pressure felt like it was keeping Gaara’s skull from cracking, and he was consummately grateful.

“Siren,” Gaara whispered. “Sisters singing too loud. Had to…”

Jody just nodded. “I know, boss. I know all the whys and whatevers. You just rest now. You’re alive, I’m here, and I’ve got good news.”

Gaara blinked at Jody stupidly.

“Health screenings came back. I picked ‘em up on my way in. We both gonna live to be old men. Clean bill of health, all ‘round. Even blood sugar’s good.”

Jody beamed at Gaara and all Gaara could do was close his eyes in a prelude to more sleep.

Clean…he was clean…

And honestly, who gave a shit?

But Jody was clean…and that was good.

Gaara passed out thinking about angels with Jody’s smile.

***

Gaara got out of the shower and winced at the stiffness in his back. Damned sub at Haze. Gaara’d flogged until his neck was nearly broken and his shoulder nearly ripped from its socket.

Pain sluts. Gaara rolled his eyes.

He downed four aspirin, chewing the last one, and walked into the living room with a towel around his waist. The bitter taste was still dissolving on his tongue when Gaara heard a key in the four locks on the door. Jody came in a moment later, holding a very large box.

“Hey!” Jody said. “You’re up!”

“Sleep’s for the weak,” Gaara commented, thinking that coffee, however, was not.

Jody laughed. “You got in late last night, boss…thought you’d still be out cold.” Jody set the box down on the small table they used more to hold mail than to have meals and grinned at Gaara. “Happy birthday.”

Gaara’s shoulders slumped but his eyes danced for just a brief second. “It’s just a day, Jody.”

“It’s your 21st! Fuck, Gaara…We didn’t think we’d be _alive_ by now.”

Gaara conceded the point. He still drank too much and smoked more, but ever since signing on with Haze, he’d whipped up a little peace. Gaara found the job interview process surprisingly easy: he read up on Haze, learned some vocabulary on Wikipedia, walked into the club one night, and told Pein that he was a professional with six years experience.

“A professional what?” Pein asked.

Gaara thought about saying, “whore” but didn’t think that’s what Pein was after. “Dom,” he said with a level gaze.

“Doms are subs first, here. We’ll see how professional you are.”

Gaara just shrugged and spent the next few hours under Pein’s watchful gaze and several peoples’ paddles and floggers and whatever else. Gaara insisted all implements be cleaned in front of him before applied to his body, but other than that he offered no comments. After the first few minutes of being bound and beaten, Gaara’d concluded that these people weren’t actually trying to kill him – which meant they could do whatever they wanted. If death came to Gaara these days, it would be on Gaara’s terms. It was the deal he’d struck with the boney fucker after he’d gotten semi-sober.

And despite initial irritation the pain had, actually, started to feel pretty good eventually. That surprised Gaara but he dismissed it along with most sensory information. He’d gotten off a couple of times, moaned prettily to make sure Pein was convinced, and then stood up like nothing had happened at the end of the night. His back bled and his ass ached but his eyes were clear and direct.

“Well?” Gaara asked.

“You start Saturday,” Pein replied and then paused. “Nothing touches you. It’s fascinating to watch. But be careful with the subs who come here. I don’t care if you make them bleed or scream, but nobody dies on my floor.”

“Understood.”

“There are certain interested parties who keep watch,” Pein explained.

“I don’t need the details,” Gaara said evenly. “I just need the job.”

“Done,” Pein said with a cold and somewhat understanding smile.

And that’d been the end of it. Being a professional dom was interesting, and being a sub on occasion was intriguing. The more he did it, the closer Gaara felt to getting some sort of understanding about humanity. That in itself was enough to keep him doing it even though he didn’t truly like being a dom or a sub, really. He still didn’t _like_ much of anything – but the job paid the bills and beat whoring or selling.

Jody still worked at the repair shop three blocks down, and they’d moved into a two bedroom place once the money got steady. Jody was clean and sober for three years, now, and Gaara was off the hard stuff for thirteen months. He still dropped the occasional hit or smoked a bowl and let himself lay around for a day. But Jody never said anything about such behavior. He still, as always, had Gaara’s back.

“What is it?” Gaara asked, eying the box warily.

Jody laughed. “That’s the thing ‘bout presents, boss. You gotta open ‘em to see what they are.”

Gaara’s lips twitched in his version of a smile and he went over to the box and ripped open the top. He stopped dead when he saw what was inside.

“Tecnics!” Jody said. “The turntables you been droolin’ over for the last six months. And!” Jody pulled a CD sleeve out of his coat pocket. “One pirated copy of mixing software – I’m told it’s good.”

Gaara stepped away from the box and brought one fist up to his mouth – an old nervous gesture. “Jody…”

Jody laughed and then pulled Gaara into a rough bear hug. “It’s all good, boss. I know you like ‘em. Just don’t piss off the neighbor’s too bad when you use ‘em, okay?”

Gaara smiled against the bicep next to his face and nodded once before pushing away. “You can’t afford this,” he said.

“Oh shut up,” Jody said good-naturedly. “I saved up and-“

Jody stopped speaking when a knock on the door interrupted them. “Shit,” Jody said. “You expectin’ anybody?”

Gaara shook his head and moved closer to an end table that held magazines, two books on auto mechanics, and a Sig Sauer in a drawer. Old habits died hard deaths. And were prone to resurrection.

Jody glanced through the hole in the door before shrugging. “Some suit,” he said and unlocked the bolts.

“Good morning,” said the suit with a briefcase in his hand. “Is this the residence of Sabaku Gaara?”

“Dunno,” Jody said. “Who’re you?”

“I represent his late father’s estate. We’ve been unable to reach Mr. Sabaku regarding his inheritance, and my company finally tracked him to this address through a utility bill. Could you please confirm if he resides here?”

Gaara walked over to the door, brain in a fog. Late father? Inheritance? These words didn’t mean anything to him.

“I’m Gaara. What do you want?”

The suit looked mildly startled at Gaara’s state of near-undress, but he recovered smoothly. “Nothing is required sir, although you may wish to retain my firm’s services for your finances. We handle insurance, large accounts, and investments. I’m to give you this.” The man lifted and opened the briefcase to remove a large, sealed envelope. “And have you sign showing you received said package.”

Gaara stared at the envelope like it was going to burn him, and Jody took it from the man. “Sign the papers, Gaara. I’ll make coffee…” Jody turned and went into the kitchen to do as he promised. Gaara took the suit’s pen and signed his name in a scrawl.

“My card, sir. And my thanks.” The man hesitated. “Your siblings would like to send you their love, sir, and since I did manage to track you down.” The man smiled, bowed, and left.

Gaara looked at the ivory business card and didn’t understand the world in the least.

“Gaara, for God’s sake, open this!” Jody said behind him. “I’m dyin’ here!”

Shutting the door and locking it tight, Gaara wandered over to the kitchen. Jody portrayed every bit of nervousness and anxiety that Gaara felt bubbling below his skin…Jody just did it by nearly dancing around the kitchen with a coffee filter in his hand.

“Go on.” Jody licked his lips. “Maybe somethin’ good!”

Gaara snorted but ripped into the envelope and yanked out the stack of paperwork he found inside. He read through several lines and flipped through, searching for answers.

The one he found included more zeros than Gaara wanted to count, and he carefully set the paperwork down, paler than usual. It wasn’t real. Nothing was – this was a sick dream. And at any moment, angels with broken wings were going to cackle at him from the ceiling.

Jody spun the documents around so he could see.

“Holy fuck,” Jody whispered. “You’re a fuckin…holy…is this for _real?!_ ”

“My father is dead.” Gaara said the words as if trying them on for size.

Jody looked up in concern and dropped the paperwork to come around to Gaara. “Yeah…”

“And he left me…”

“Um, 1.2 billion dollars it looks like,” Jody said. “And a 1923 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost that’s worth...” Jody swallowed.

“About 50 million insured,” Gaara finished. He knew his cars, and the Ghost was one of the world’s most valuable vehicles. It was his father’s response to his wife’s death to buy one at the auction of a private estate. Everyone counted him quite insane. But Gaara remembered taking naps in the Ghost’s back seat as a child of four years and too much experience.

“But…” Gaara looked up and met Jody’s gaze. “Why?”

Jody’s expression went tender, and he tried to touch Gaara, but the smaller man stepped away. His brain was on fire – like a slow burn building up to forest blaze. He didn’t understand. Father was dead? And had left him money? And a goddamned car? And his siblings were alive and well and they sent _love?_ They’d not even sent Christmas cards. Or bailed Gaara out of jail that one time. But then…

Maybe they didn’t know? Maybe…?

Gaara pressed hands to the sides of his head and he heard a voice asking something, but he couldn’t stop the screams of indignant rage and confusion. They were loud. So loud.

This hurt – it all hurt - but Gaara didn’t know why. His father wanted him dead – said he did all those years ago. Said he was a mistake. Sent him to his uncle. Didn’t believe the abuse.

He was crying Gaara on the stairs holding a teddy bear telling Daddy that Uncle hurt him bad.

The fucking. The beatings.

He was angry Gaara telling a therapist that he didn’t lie and knew Daddy wanted him to shut up.

His father sent Gaara to therapy to silence his tears. Drank and ignored him. Hated him…dead mother…hospitals…

He was screaming Gaara as Daddy held him down and the man in a white coat plunged a needle in his arm.

_It’ll calm him down. He’s delusional, the poor dear. It’s so hard when a parent dies._

None of them had any idea.

_“It’s so rare…the placental abruption from the last birth was relatively minor, but her blood pressure never stabilized even with medication. We think that’s what lead to the strokes. So sorry…_

Weeping siblings…eyes on him…hating him…wishing he were dead…

_“There’s just nothing we can do for her...”_

And now…? Father sent money and a car – an angel of death bearing gifts of Christmas past to tell him there was a future.

It. Hurt. Impossible hurt. Impossible…

_Please...please don’t…_

Gaara could see the boy’s eyes, he could see the barrel of the gun, and he could still feel the trigger under his finger.

_There is no God._

There was a loud noise – maybe a scream, a yell, or something in between. Gaara didn’t understand where it came from, but it filled his ears and blocked out his vision. So loud…so incredibly loud…He stumbled and fell and somebody caught him.

Gaara came back to himself on the floor surrounded by the comfort of Jody’s arms. Gaara was in a tight ball of tension and his head hurt so much he felt like throwing up.

“’sokay,” Jody said, rocking him. “I’m right here. You need the bathroom?”

Jody was all too familiar with these episodes. They didn’t happen very often, but when Gaara “overloaded” – Jody’s word – he was there to make sure Gaara didn’t hurt himself or others.

Usually.

Gaara shook his head. It was full of cotton that finally – finally – muffled the screaming.

“Head hurt?”

Gaara nodded.

“Okay, boss…just hang on to me.”

Jody stood up and carried Gaara into his room. Jody gently put Gaara down on cool sheets and then crawled into bed next to him, pulling him close and wrapping him up in blankets. Gaara shivered and stared at nothing, wishing he were…anything. Dead. Drunk. In pain. Something to find the ground. Something to understand that up was not down.

“It’s okay, boss…it’s okay…” Jody rubbed Gaara’s back and eventually the pain blotted out the confusion, and Gaara fell asleep with a furrowed brow and a dark heart.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ About here is where I realized Gaara needed a foil, and Jody was perfect. The exact opposite reflection that somehow tempered Gaara's… well, everything. Cheers, all. 
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Breakdown - Seether](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXVNiYxRv8U). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.  
>   
> You can break me down if it takes all your might  
> 'cause I'm so much more than all your lies  
> Hate me, break me down  
> So break me down  
> So break me down  
> So break me down if it makes you feel right  
> And hate me now if it keeps you alright  
> You can break me down if it takes all your might  
> 'cause I'm so much more than meets the eye
> 
> ∞ Let's remember: GAARA IS A SOCIOPATH AT BEST AND A PSYCHOPATH AT WORST - he is unbalanced, violent, and dangerous. Kiba is crazy in that, "Why CAN'T we get naked, slather ourselves with honey and bait, and feed the rabid Tasmanian devils?" kind of way. It will take a LOT for Gaara to pay attention to Kiba, and it'll take a special _kind_ of skillset to get his attention in the first place. I get a lot of hatemail (but more love notes - thank you) on this story, and that's fine - opinions be cool - but be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ I also get a ton of questions about Jody. Here's the thing: when I started this story, I basically moved so far out of "fandom" and into my AU that I stopped caring whether or not this is technically a "Japanese" or "Anime-friendly" country. Jody was the first character who really wandered in from New Amsterdam - which is really where this story takes place, and less Mono - and decided to hang out for a while. So forgive my not-quite-Japanese-but-with-a-Japanese-name-country weirdness. It's AU. It happens.
> 
> ∞ Fun fact! Jody wasn't supposed to live past the first three chapters. You can thank Azazel999 for his survival.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


	3. Broken Interlude -- A Rhythm & Bruise Sidefic

Gaara sat on a stool in the shadows and drank down his seventh shot of cheap whiskey. The burn scorched his throat and ignited his gut, the aftertaste made his tongue numb, and the bottom of the shot glass hit Deathtoll's scarred bar with a hollow sound. Gaara stared at it: watched a bead of liquor slither down the side. He wondered what good whiskey tasted like; he could find out now, after all.

_ I'm a fucking billionaire.  _

Lip curled in distaste, Gaara didn't even look up as Jody's friend Sphinx -- who owned the bar -- came over and refilled Gaara's glass without a word. Sphinx's tattooed hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, his wide chest was covered in an old, black t-shirt with the Harley insignia, and his braided beard was currently dyed red and blue.

"I could buy a Harley," Gaara said, monotone voice dull. Sphinx paused, and Gaara met his dark gaze. Sphinx's bald head gleamed in the dull light, making the tiger tattoo shine on Sphinx's golden skin. One of the cat's claws batted at the place where Sphinx's ear used to be, though now only a mess of scar tissue remained. Gaara stared at the deep pock marks on Sphinx's cheek as the bartender nodded, expressionless.

"But I don't like them," Gaara said, frowning. Sphinx shrugged one uncaring shoulder, turned, and went back to doing whatever it was he did when he wasn't refilling Gaara's glass. Sphinx didn't like talking, and rarely worked behind the bar. Usually he preferred to sit in a corner booth and observe humanity instead of interact with them. It was something Gaara intrinsically understood; one of the many reasons he almost liked Sphinx.

Gaara picked up his new shot, and over the brim he caught the asshole who sat six stools down staring again. Gaara snarled at him, lip curling, but the man didn't look away. Instead, he raised his own glass, paused, and then drank it dry.

_ Long-haired freak.  _

Gaara downed the shot and closed his eyes when memory rose like bile, coming to the surface as the alcohol loosened the chains that kept the past in a bound box at the bottom of Gaara's black hole heart. On the back's of his lids, he saw his Uncle's smile, saw his father's hand raised before he struck Gaara across the face, saw his mother's tears as she lay in a bed to die.

_ "You're a worthless piece of refuse, boy. Get out of my sight." _

A high-handed insult from a proud, twisted man. Gaara didn't understand what people meant when they spoke of childhood: of playgrounds, crayons, naptimes. The events of Gaara's formative years left him raped, beaten, and battered before branding him a runaway, a murderer, a whore. The only solace was in surviving: the best revenge Gaara could muster was in choosing his pain, in modifying his own destruction. Gaara knew at age six that he was a lost soul; the only thing that remained was picking the particulars.

And for all the trouble and violence, Gaara was rewarded with money, a car, and a note about his half brother and sister, who apparently lived in this god-forsaken city. Gaara knew their names, knew they were well-adjusted citizens; the children their father chose to sire and forget.

Lucky…weren't they all just so goddamned lucky.

Gaara glanced up and saw an angel swinging in an invisible breeze from the low ceiling. It grinned at Gaara, eyes bulging from the pressure of the noose about its neck, and it held up a hand that clutched a blackened, bleeding, wing.

"Go back to hell," Gaara muttered to the delusion, looking away. His stomach heaved, he swallowed hard, and he tried to think of the last time he'd eaten. Yesterday, he thought, though Jody had tried to--

Gaara winced as unfamiliar and awful pain made his insides curdle. 

_ Don't think about Jody. Don't think about his eyes, the way he held you when… _

Shivering, Gaara fought down guilt and rage as his eyes met the stranger's again. He was off his stool in a heartbeat, long strides taking him to the man's side in a weaving blur. Gaara's fist hit the bar next to the prick's drink, made the glass jump. Sphinx idled closer, but made no move to interrupt. 

"The fuck…are you looking at…bitch?" Gaara hissed as he scanned the man's face.

Dark eyes that titled at the corners regarded Gaara without a flicker of fear. Gaara's jaw twitched. He blinked. The man still stared, upper body turned toward Gaara. The stranger was a tall, lean fucker; hair pulled back into a low tail, pale skin, nice jacket and clothes. Asshole screamed money, looked like he didn't belong here, looked--

"Familiar," Gaara murmured.

The man nodded.

Gaara's eyes narrowed. "Haze…?"

Another nod.

It took Gaara a second or two to search through his memories of screaming submissives to come up with an image of this man on a rack: naked, bound, bleeding, soundless except for low grunts as Pein's whip steadily impacted Itachi's skin. Oddly, he never screamed until Pein stopped to speak to him; whispered something in his ear.  _ Then _ this guy bellowed: profanity, incoherent nonsense, shit that made Gaara stay the hell away.

"Itachi," Gaara said, eyes searching the man's face. He was pretty, Gaara supposed; much like a glacier was a stunning piece of Mother Nature.

"Gaara," Itachi said in reply.

"The hell do you want?" Gaara asked again, studying the man's mouth.

Itachi said nothing. The two men looked at one another, tension coiling and unfurling like thorny vines. Sphinx hovered, Gaara waited, and finally Itachi reached out and caught a piece of Gaara's leather jacket between thumb and forefinger. Emotions played in Itachi's eyes, but Gaara didn't know what they were. And he didn't care.

"I said--"

Itachi cut Gaara off by standing up. The man was tall. Not Jody Tall, but he still loomed over Gaara, eyes down and meeting Gaara's. He stood too close, fingers playing on Gaara's jacket, and he didn't let go as he reached for his wallet. Gaara stared up at the other man while Itachi removed a one hundred dollar bill, tossed it on the bar, and licked his lips just enough to give Gaara a glimpse of pink tongue. Thin eyebrows quirked in a quick up-down, and when Itachi turned to leave, Gaara followed. He didn't know why, and it didn't matter.

Outside the air was crisp with a faint hint of first frost. Itachi walked with his hands in the pockets of his long coat, the heels of his shoes hitting pavement with steady, dulled thuds. Gaara tailed him, working hard to manage straight lines and longing for the old days where he could suck lines of oblivion up his nose or down his throat. 

"Hey baby, you lookin' fer a date?" Gaara struggled and sidestepped the hooker who spoke in a man's voice, glitter all over his lips. Gaara staggered and regained his stride.

"Drunk-ass bitch!" The whore screeched after Gaara, but he ignored it. He kept his gaze on Itachi's back, and flinched as cars roared by on the street. Lights flickered and hummed above their heads, a dog barked down an alleyway, and Itachi didn't even look back as he turned to yank open the dirty door of a hotel that had vacancies by the hour.

Gaara paused in what passed for a lobby. A woman sat huddled on a bench to his right, and she coughed, weakly, as Gaara passed, the track marks on her arms telling too much of her story. The keeper of keys stood inside a booth with bars that imprisoned him safe from humanity, and Gaara watched the keeper slide a card to Itachi. The brunette delicately picked it up, inclined his head, and headed for a doorway. Gaara watched the man go, waiting and wondering. He heard Itachi's scream--

_ "I had to do it for him, you sorry little fuck!" _

\--and the words made no sense. He recalled the sobs that wracked Itachi's shoulders when Pein finally finished with him. How many times had Gaara seen that show? Too many to count and too often to note it unusual. Gaara remembered the crying though; he used to do that himself quite a lot before the Saints.

Killing people had a way of drying up the tears.

Feet moving and brain spinning with whiskey and dreary confusion, Gaara's boots went soft on the thin, stained carpet of a long hallway. At the far end, Itachi stood with his hand flat on a door. He wasn't looking back at Gaara, though; instead, he stared at the ground.

Gaara's shoulder collided with a wall as he trudged toward the mysterious brunette, and Gaara wondered if he should throw up now or later. 

_ "Come see what Uncle's got for you, little Gaara…" _

Now: definitely vomiting now. Gaara sank to the floor on his hands and knees, staring at the grime smeared along the baseboards. His back heaved once, he fought to keep down his gorge, and after a short struggle, Gaara won. Spitting on the carpet, Gaara scowled at himself. There was a time when heroin and a fifth didn't even do this to him. He didn't know if acting like this made him weak, stupid, or entirely too--

"Human…" 

The word rasped loudly in Gaara's ears, and he was unsure if he said it or heard it. Using the wall, Gaara got back on his feet. Itachi watched him, dark eyes curious and body holding open the door into the room. Gaara forged ahead, steadying himself on the wall. His fingertips trailed over greasy green paint, and Itachi pushed the door wider to let Gaara inside.

The room had a double bed, a chair, a dresser, a window, and a bathroom that smelled like stale smoke and bleach. There was one light in the room, a lamp in the corner, and it provided a narrow ring of illumination that barely combated the darkness. Gaara'd definitely seen worse. He made his way to the chair, turning to sink ungracefully into it. He glared at Itachi as the other man approached, seemingly unbothered by Gaara's attitude. That was odd; usually people flinched away or said something or got  _ that _ look in their eyes that told Gaara other people didn't understand him, never would, and the best he could hope for was for everyone to leave him alone. Jody was the only one--

_ Jody. Fuck. _

Gaara started to reach for his phone, paused, and settled back in the chair. Jody knew how Gaara tried to cope after an overload like the one Gaara went through that afternoon. After the man with the briefcase and documents showed up, told him his life was about to change for the so-called better, that there was so much money, and that his father was dead.

Bile rose, Gaara leaned forward to put his head between his knees, and he stayed like that until something nudged his shoulder. Gaara flinched and found Itachi standing too close again, holding out a flask. Itachi maintained the pose for a long moment and finally he brought the flask to his own mouth, drank, and offered it again to Gaara, swallowing. The black gaze never wavered, and Gaara took the flask and sniffed at it.

"Whiskey," Itachi said.

Cool metal met Gaara's lips, and smooth liquid hit his tongue and slipped down his throat like silk. 

"…good," Gaara said. 

Itachi didn't answer. He put his back to Gaara and shrugged out of his jacket. He wore a black button-down underneath, and Gaara squinted at the fabric. It didn't move right. Instead of flowing with Itachi's body, the shirt looked stiff; like it'd been soaked in too much starch. Gaara'd seen something like that before: on the backs of men with gunshot wounds. Gaara cocked his head to one side as Itachi threw the jacket on the dresser. The tall man began unbuttoning the next layer, and Gaara stared. Itachi paused with undone shirttails, hands falling to his sides in loose fists. Gaara listened to Itachi breathing and thought he should go; get the fuck out of here before this insanity went any further. Gaara didn't know much, but he knew that Itachi was no paragon of normalcy. 

Gaara reached around to the small of his back, felt the gun there, and watched Itachi shrug out of the long sleeves to reveal a white undershirt. It looked like someone had used it to mop up after a gang fight. Bandages covered Itachi's skin -- fresh ones, with drying red-brown streaks -- and the brunette tossed the shirt into a pile with the jacket and turned to look at Gaara. His eyes made Gaara consider soul eaters, death, and pain.

"Haze," Itachi said, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. He held out his hand, and Gaara passed him the flask.

"Nagato?" Gaara asked, curious.

"I don't know." Itachi drank with his eyes open and wiped his mouth with his wrist.

"…oh." Gaara wondered about a man who let himself be blinded to whomever wanted to beat him bloody; found it easy to comprehend.

Itachi looked at Gaara and the furnace gaze softened, making Gaara's eyes slide away. He ground his teeth until his jaw hurt. What the hell was he doing here? Why was he so overwrought? Should he call Jody? Have him come get Gaara or provide backup? The big man told him not to go as Gaara stalked out the apartment door; pleaded with him to--

"…stay?"

"What?" Gaara barked, glaring.

"I said, 'Do you want to stay?'" Itachi answered, implacable calm making Gaara want to scream.

"I don't know what the fuck I want." Gaara's numbed lips formed the words, his ringing ears heard them, but his brain refused to acknowledge the depth of old ache entwined around them.

Itachi considered that, sipping at the flask. "Me, either," he said, finally, holding out the alcohol again. Gaara reached for it, the room swam, a dead angel cackled, and a hand caught Gaara before he could fall face-first to the floor.

"Let go of me," Gaara mumbled, but Itachi ignored him. The flask tumbled to the floor, surprisingly strong arms wrapped around Gaara, and Gaara got caught up in his fight with stomach and gravity as he was bodily moved. Seconds later and his cheek pressed into scratchy fabric, and he felt hands at his hips, shifting. Gaara rose up too fast when the gun got pulled from his pants, and he gurgled a groan. A warm palm pressed his head gently back onto the thin pillow beneath the bedspread, and the gun appeared in Gaara's line of sight, placed next to his fisted fingers.

"Trying to get you comfortable," Itachi said.

"Fuck you and your comfort," Gaara groused.

Itachi chuckled and stroked Gaara's hair. "I understand."

Gaara shut his eyes when the room flickered and became his old bedroom at his uncle's house. Despair and lack of comprehension made him feel small, helpless. "No, you don't."

The bed shifted, Gaara's eyes squeezed tighter, and he breathed through his mouth when he felt the other man lay down. A hand rubbed Gaara's lower back, and he snarled a bitten curse, trying to get up and get away.

"Stop that," Itachi said, but he sounded tired, not angry, and he didn't try to stop Gaara. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"What if…" Gaara panted, head down and hair in his eyes. One arm shook, the elbow gave, and Gaara collapsed onto the bed. 

"What if what, dear one?" A hand smoothed through his hair again, and Gaara gasped, shivering as Itachi wrapped around him like some sort of human blanket. It felt awful; made Gaara's body do strange things, made a noise break on his tongue. 

Itachi hummed. "What if you want me to hurt you?" 

"Get off of me," Gaara whispered.

"Pain I can do," Itachi said softly, shifting. Gaara felt the other man pull at his jacket, and Gaara's mind reeled when he didn't even try to fight. Instead, he lay on the bed on his stomach, passive as a kitten while Itachi removed the outer shell of clothing. Hatred seethed through Gaara's veins, threatened to make him black out.

Hands on his hips, gentle and careful enough that Gaara felt made of glass. "It's more effective without clothing in the way, dear one." Fingers squirmed beneath Gaara, helped him to his knees before starting to undo his pants. 

"Shit," Gaara said, not even knowing why. He looked at the gun and for the first time in his life he realized it couldn't save him. It wouldn't bring back his father, it wouldn't help him deal with Jody, it wouldn't go to dinner with his goddamned siblings, and it wouldn't stop the heat in his veins that ignited when Itachi pulled off his jeans and underwear in a slow slide. Itachi's touch was warm on Gaara's skin, and Gaara wanted to yell at him to stop. Or maybe he wanted to turn and whisper that Itachi  _ had _ to continue. It was too late to run.

"Back down, my precious boy…want you flat." 

"U-uncle, no…" Gaara didn't obey for a shuddering second, and then gentle hands forced him onto his stomach. His clothing bunched around his shins, made him want to use the gun, but on whom, Gaara didn't know. He imagined how the metal would taste; thought about Itachi's thin lips wrapped around the barrel, cheeks hollowed as he sucked.

"Not your uncle, dear one, and I won't hurt you like that."

Mind misfiring, Gaara tensed so hard on the bed a muscle cramped in his lower back. Itachi shushed him, stroked his bare skin with light fingertips.

"Like what?" Gaara asked, voice level. The man couldn't know, he  _ couldn't. _

Words in his ear, mouth moving and tone too caring for the likes of little lost boys: "Won't hurt you in a way that destroys. There's too much of that in this room without me making more. Say my name, and I stop."

All sorts of words and phrases clamored for freedom from Gaara's mouth as the other man moved again and Gaara's gaze fixed on the lamp:  _ Stop, I don't need this, get away, fuck off, what are you going to do, please make it go away… _

"Going to touch you now." Gaara's eyes widened as Itachi kneaded the small of his back, down his ass, both of his legs. He hated it but said nothing. He shuddered and denied himself the asking for more: now, faster, harder, God, please…

The first strike stole Gaara's breath. The second one made him jerk. The sixth made him exhale an explosive cry, and he turned his face into the covers. Fast, damp breathing steamed hot back into Gaara's face, and the strikes fell, stung, smacked over his ass and legs and hips. Gaara strangled a noise, clutched the bedclothes, and everything blew away beneath the relentless blows and the building burn. Itachi's steady breathing filled Gaara's ears, barely heard over the pounding of his pulse. The man and the pain consumed Gaara's world, made him shake when the strikes stopped, made him relax when they resumed. The impact of palm on skin was impossibly loud, seemed to echo off the walls, but soon it faded. Gaara's ears became cotton-filled, his eyelids grew heavy, and when he shifted on the bed, his cock dragged and the frizzle of sensation made him do it again.

"That's it, my delightful boy…move for me." Itachi's low voice was reserved but breathy, and he crawled to one side while Gaara rolled against the bed. The next strike hit both his ass cheeks, and the next ones fell with the same intensity on the same spot. Gaara called out, muffled but loud, and thought he would drown in the red that flashed behind his eyes. He squirmed, only partially aware he moved at all, and his head turned to the side. He sucked in cool air in a shaky inhale that was interrupted by harsher spanks to each cheek and finally another one fell and made his groin light up and screech for more and for mercy.

_ "Itachi…" _ Gaara gasped and other noises filled his ears: affectionate whispers, soft sounds. Those made his arms come up so his hands could cover his head, hiding in plain sight, but he let Itachi roll him onto one hip. Itachi grasped one of Gaara's wrists, moved it away from his head to tuck it to his chest, and Itachi squeezed Gaara in a hug. 

"Safe and beautiful; held and wanted," Itachi murmured, and Gaara half-screamed. Itachi shushed him, palm petting his abdomen beneath his shirt. "Going to lay here with you and reach down to touch and stroke you. Help you find a different kind of release, my desperate boy…say my name if you want me to stop."

Gaara hissed through his teeth, and he felt torn and scattered around the room. He didn't know what this was; he couldn't fucking think. And when Itachi's hand wrapped around his half-hard cock, Gaara didn't want to try anymore. He bucked into Itachi's fist, body eager and mind repulsed.

"Ooh," Itachi moaned in Gaara's ear. "This is what I wanted, precious boy. To hold someone in my arms, to have him need even a part of me…" Itachi trailed off, and Gaara blinked, dazed. He didn't understand anything, but it didn't matter because Itachi worked him swift and sure. Hot breath blew on Gaara's damp neck and in his hair. Itachi didn't kiss him, and Gaara found gratitude wrapped up in need and terror. He whimpered, hips moving in time to Itachi's strokes.

"I'd forgotten," Itachi mumbled, and he shuddered behind Gaara. "Oh gods above, I'd forgotten…"

"Fuck," Gaara choked, high-pitched. He thrashed, tensed, and came with a gasp of relief that bordered on outrage. Itachi kept stroking, milking Gaara, and oh  _ God _ but it made Gaara unable to do anything but endure the pleasure. He didn't make a sound as Itachi slowed his hand, the glide slick with Gaara's cum. Itachi didn't pull away, he continued to hold Gaara's body and spent cock, breathing slowly and deeply until Gaara found himself matching Itachi's rhythm.

"Thank you, precious Gaara," Itachi said. They were the last words Gaara heard before he closed his eyes and let the sweet reprieve of unconsciousness take him.

~*~

Gaara woke up lying on his stomach, fully clothed and mostly comfortable. The light was on in the bathroom, and when Gaara turned his head, he saw Itachi sitting in the chair. The brunette's legs were crossed, his shirt and jacket were back in place, and he stared out the dingy window. An ambulance went by, siren wailing, and Gaara licked his lips and struggled to rise. His lower half ached, but that was oddly comforting, and his head didn't hurt nearly as much as it should.

"Try to drink more," Itachi said, dark eyes meeting Gaara's sharp gaze. 

"What?" Gaara asked, not comprehending.

Itachi merely pointed to the half-empty bottle of water on the bed. "You woke up enough to let me give you aspirin and make you drink." Itachi's eyes slid to stare at the floor and his mouth worked into a good imitation of a smile. "You were sweet in your need."

Gaara wanted to curse, but it came out as a grunt. He drank the water, scowling, and sighed when he was done.

"Do you want help home?" Itachi asked, eyes back out the window.

"No."

Itachi nodded and stood. Gaara saw a flash of pain mar his features before it vanished. Gaara tensed when Itachi walked over to the bed, and he knocked Itachi's hand away when it came up to touch Gaara's cheek. Itachi looked sad -- Gaara understood sad -- and the brunette fixed him with a deep-seeing gaze.

"Sometimes surviving is the hardest thing to do in life," Itachi said, voice a quiet rumble. "Death is always there, an easy way out, and denial for denial's sake grows tedious with time."

Gaara listened with clenched teeth. That almost sounded like something Jody would say, only it was prettier coming from Itachi; melodic and entrancing.

"Find something to love, Gaara. It's the only way out of hell." Itachi reached for Gaara again, and this time he let Itachi smooth back his hair from his forehead. Fingertips stroked skin, caressing so lightly as almost not to be a touch at all.

"I don't know how," Gaara answered. 

"Then find a way," Itachi replied. He bent, kissed the air over Gaara's eyebrow, and stepped back with one last look. Gaara didn't watch Itachi leave, but when the door clicked shut, Gaara's eyes went to the window. Moonlight shone down on the building across the street, and Gaara stared at it for a long time before he reached for his phone.

It was time to find his way back to Jody and home.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞I decided the best way to incorporate this One-Shot was to put it where it belonged chronologically. Hope you all are okay with that!
> 
> ∞ Story was written (QUITE a while ago) for Essenceofthedark back on Y!Gal for her kiriban giftfic. 
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


	4. Chapter 4

“I don’t normally ask this, but you sure?” 

Gaara looked at the artist holding the tattoo gun and nodded once. He lay back in the chair, hair pulled away from his face in a cap. 

“You got ink, but this one’s gonna hurt. And the placement…”

“Pain doesn’t bother me,” Gaara said matter-of-fact. He closed his eyes. “Just do it.”

“Sure, man. Just checkin’.”

The needle hit skin and Gaara sighed in something like euphoria, body going limp even as sweat started to roll. What they said was true: tattoos were addictive. Gaara had tribal etchings that covered most of his left torso from the waist up. They danced down his left arm to his elbow and covered his left shoulder blade to his spine. The shoulder blade hurt more than this, but in truth none of them hurt enough.

“Pretty wicked this one,” the artist said. “What’s it mean?”

“It means ‘Ai’ – love,” Gaara explained.

The artist chuckled. “No, man, got that part. I’ve done a few Kanji in my time. I mean…anything else?”

“Just a reminder,” Gaara said softly. 

“Cool,” the man replied and continued the outline. Gaara didn’t even flinch.

***

Gaara pulled Beast – the old Caddy that he’d saved from the chopping block that let him drive toward survival all those years ago – into his space outside the apartment building. Jody kept Beast running, and one of Gaara’s first acts with his money was going to be to fix her up in the classic style. Candy Apple red paint, silver trim, white seats, all the whistles. Beast would look good, and that made Gaara…almost happy.

His forehead tingled from the fresh ink, and the sun was bright on the back of his neck when he got out and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. It was six months since the seemingly-simple packet arrived and changed his world, and it was time to move on with life. Gaara may have spent his time until now seeking something he didn’t know how to find in all the worst ways possible. He may have wanted death and destruction and chaos – may have found a kind of solace there; an understanding of pain and struggle.

But the fact was that life was different now – and could be very different. Over the past half a year, Gaara’d stopped drinking and smoking. He made lists and scribbled tentative plans on scraps of computer paper, and he spent long hours in the dusky, still time of night looking out his window and thinking. It was the lull before the next phase, and for the first time in Gaara’s life, he thought about more than the present moment. And he thought about more than just himself.

Jody took care of Gaara without comment or pressure. He was there when things overloaded and Gaara threw things or screamed. Jody made excuses to neighbors, brought Gaara strawberry candy and hot chocolate. He waited and watched while Gaara struggled to pull pieces of himself together and figure out what he liked and what he didn’t.

Which led to the tattoo, of course. Gaara needed something concrete to mark the change – and pain was always a way to do that for Gaara. Now he knew what he wanted – and he needed to tell the person responsible for keeping him alive all these years.

Nerves played a fiddle in the back of Gaara’s mind as Gaara unlocked the door. Guilt and nervousness and concern were all young blooms in the garden of Gaara’s understanding. And he found that he didn’t want to crush them under the heel of his boot – which he thought was a sign of something good.

Jody was sitting on the couch watching TV when Gaara walked in. He looked up and smiled. “Hey boss, what’s – oh shit!”

Jody stood up and crossed to Gaara, eyes on the new tattoo. “You got ink without me?” He sounded hurt, and his hazel eyes backed up the tone.

“Yeah,” Gaara said. “Had to. Needed to think in the chair, and need to talk to you.”

Jody looked concerned and curious, and he blinked down at Gaara questioningly.

“Let’s sit,” Gaara said, moving toward the couch and flipping off the TV.

“Fuck,” Jody said quietly, following Gaara. “You’re takin’ off, ain’t ya? I don’t blame you, boss. I would.” He sounded miserable, and Gaara reflected on the fact that the misery was over the possibility of Gaara leaving. He meant something to Jody. 

Interesting. Good – and continually, evermore, interesting.

Gaara sat down and smiled at Jody – a real little turn of thin lips that made Jody stare in something like wonderment. The smiles were so rare, and he’d told Gaara more than once that he lived for them in the darker times.

“No,” Gaara said. “But I’ve been thinking about what comes next. For both of us.”

Jody’s expression became one of unsuppressed hope, and he sat on the couch and waited for Gaara to continue.

“We’re moving,” Gaara said. He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and slid it over to Jody. “There’s land for sale on the edge of town. It’s about thirty acres, and I just bought it.”

Jody whistled and nodded. “Okay, boss. Sounds good so far.”

“The land’s cheap ‘cause there’s an old auto body shop on it and a trailer or two. I can hire people to haul stuff off and do the heavy lifting so we don’t have to for once. We stay here, build homes, and I want to fix up the shop.”

“Boss?” Jody asked.

Gaara rubbed his hands together and looked at them while he spoke. “I got the ink without you because it reminds me of what I don’t understand. But I want to try, I think. We’ve got money now – and time. You’re good with cars and people. I’m good with anything I need to be. We build the shop and our homes and start over.”

Jody didn’t say anything…he looked shocked, and Gaara sighed. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy to swallow. Hell, it was hard for him. But things needed to change – hell, they already  _ had _ changed - and he had to try and explain.

“You’ve been with me all my life.”

“’cause you saved mine, boss,” Jody said immediately. “I told you I’d always have your back. I meant it.”

Gaara looked up and nodded, lips quirking again. “And now I can have yours. Take the house, take the job, and consider it a gift for keeping me alive. Even when I didn’t want to be.”

Jody sat and just blinked at his friend for a long moment, and Gaara watched the naked shock and surprise dance over his expressive features. Finally he shook his head a little and met Gaara’s gaze. “But, I mean…really?” Jody sniffled.

“Don’t start that shit,” Gaara sighed.

“Oh come on, Gaara,” Jody said with a smile and watery eyes. “You’re tellin’ me I get my own place – that you want to build it for me? That’s like…beyond anythin’, boss. Just:  _ beyond. _ And I get to work on cars with you. Wait – what kind of cars?” His face lit up with the possibilities, and Gaara felt warmth spread inside his chest. It was new and faintly pleasant, and Gaara wrapped his arms around his body as though trying to physically trap the feeling.

“I was thinking we’d specialize in old ones. Like the Caddy and the Rolls. High end things. There’s plenty of money in this city.”

“I can do that, boss. Foreign or domestic – it don’t matter. They got books, and Sphinx could hook me up with some people.”

“And I thought we’d hire from the streets. Not tolerate bullshit, but give chances. Kids, you know.”

Jody nodded. “Like us.”

“Like us,” Gaara agreed.

Jody smiled and one of his hands formed a peace sign, fingers pointing down. “I got your back, boss.”

Gaara returned the symbol. “And I’ve got yours.”

***

Akasuna Auto was in the black. Gaara blew out a puff of air and shut the ledger. He had an accountant, but he liked keeping track of things by hand. It calmed him down and helped him focus. Besides, ever since he got his GED and started taking online courses for kicks, he found he enjoyed the order and rhythm of numbers. The emotional overloads were fewer and farther between, now, but Gaara still had difficulties. Numbers, cars, and Jody helped. 

And so did music – Gaara stayed up all night sometimes spinning on the Tecnics Jody’d bought him. He even did a gig here or there sometimes – usually a favor called in by one of Jody’s friends. Gaara found he really liked spinning in dark clubs. It let him be close to people – to darkness, to sex, to the pulse of living – without having to be directly involved. He provided the soundtrack; the partiers provided the heart and soul.

All of it kept Gaara busy – especially with the shop and the construction. In the past six months, Gaara had discovered exactly how smoothly things could go with money in hand and a plan in mind. A crew of contractors and various teams built two houses, fixed up and expanded the auto body shop, and cleaned up Gaara’s property in record time. He managed funds through Adam Skye – the man who delivered the paperwork after his father’s death – and he’d had dinner with his brother and sister. They both lived in the city, as it turned out. Kankuro worked at the college in theatre and Temari was a therapist of all things. 

After hearing Gaara’s story – told in bleak, stark detail – Temari hugged him, cried, and gave Gaara a name. He started seeing a man named Brian two times a week. He had medication, understood the definition of words like “closure” and “transference,” and while he felt a little numb from the pills, he also felt less like killing customers.

Something that Jody was often keen to point out was a good thing. Made for better references.

Gaara quit working at Haze once he started on his new life, but Pein was more than happy to keep business cards and put a good word in for Gaara and his new shop. Gaara’d been right – there was no shortage of money in this city. Sleek and sexy car after car came through their bays, nervous owners talking to Jody about their babies in tones and language that even Gaara could understand.

Things were…good. Gaara and happiness still didn’t know one another, but he and contentment were pen pals.

Sipping water – the strongest thing Gaara drank these days was cranberry juice – Gaara looked up as Jody came into his office. 

“Hey boss,” Jody said with a smile. “Somebody here to see you.”

Gaara shifted in his seat. He didn’t like dealing with people other than Jody or his siblings. It made him nervous. “Who is it?”

“Dunno, but he’s pretty insistent. And hot – and boss, you know I don’t swing that way.” Jody laughed.

“What does he want?” Gaara didn’t care what the man looked like. He stayed the hell away from relationships. His therapist even agreed it was probably better that way until he could understand human emotion on a deeper level. 

“Won’t say, really. Says he’s got a proposition for you about music.”

Gaara’s pale eyebrows went up. “Music? Well.” Gaara swallowed. “Send him in, then.”

“Thought you might see it that way, boss.” Jody grinned. Then he turned, large body moving gracefully, and leaned out the doorway.

“We good, Mr. Hatake! Come on back!”

Gaara watched as Jody stepped aside and a striking man with two different colored eyes stepped into the doorway. He had gray hair, one blue eye and one brown eye, and he wore a t-shirt and jeans like an Italian suit. Smiling, the man approached the desk.

“Good morning,” he said. “I’m Kakashi Hatake – you must be the Gaara I’ve heard so much about?”

Gaara accepted Kakashi’s outstretched hand and shook it once, firmly. “I’m Gaara,” he said. “What do you want?”

Kakashi laughed. “Direct. I like it.” He sat down across from Gaara. “I’ll get right to it: I was at Pressure Point the other night, and I heard you spin. I don’t know how often you dabble in music, Gaara, but you’re good at it. I own a bar and I’m about to open a club called Bliss. Was wondering if you’d be interested in being my DJ?”

Gaara’s heart pounded a little faster. Music and cars…the two things he enjoyed in life, and this man was offering him a way to delve further into one of those. “Bliss?” Gaara asked. “The cathedral place up on the plateau?”

Kakashi grinned. “Seen it, have you? Yeah, that’s the place.”

“I thought Uzumaki was putting that up?”

Kakashi tilted his head back and forth, eyes up and considering. “It’s a joint venture. I can get you all the details you need. Just wanted to see if you had any interest first.”

Gaara hesitated. “I’ve got the shop,” he said. “And a past you might not like.” Gaara’s therapist was always telling him to be honest about his past with new people. Gaara didn’t really understand why that was since most of the time the stories made people pale and uncomfortable. Perhaps it was all the discussion of murder…people tended to frown upon all that, after all. But Gaara didn’t kill people any more – so really, the panic was moot.

Kakashi smiled. He leaned back in the chair and shut the door before sitting upright and forward, hands folded on the desk. “I know about your past, Gaara. Everything from the Sons of Saints to Haze.”

Gaara frowned. “Oh?” he said. Most of that information wasn’t exactly public knowledge, though Gaara quickly calculated how much information could be online or in open records. It might be enough to put a story together if one had the resources. 

Kakashi nodded. “And since I know so much about you, here’s a bit about me: Bliss is a joint venture among Hyuga Neji, Uzumaki Naruto, Asashi Tenzou – you may know him as Yamato - and myself.”

Gaara’s eyes widened a bit. Those were…rather impressive names. “The Prime Minister’s chosen heir, the head of the Uzumaki Corporation, and the architect from the Asashi firm?” 

“And me,” Kakashi said with a grin. “The bar owner.”

“Which bar?”

“Glow.”

Gaara shifted a little in his chair. “How does a bar owner fall into such company?” 

“He manages to grow up knowing a bunch of kids who turn out to be destined for pain-in-the-ass jobs and too much responsibility,” Kakashi quipped. “Then he does a tour of duty in Special Ops, makes some connections, learns a few things you can’t really unlearn, and comes home to try to figure out life once killing is no longer sanctioned.” Kakashi gave Gaara a long look which he returned, thinking this man was certainly an interesting specimen of humanity. 

“And now,” Kakashi continued, apparently satisfied that Gaara had no comment on Kakashi’s back story. “I make it my business to be good at certain things that those kids need in their complicated lives.”

“…like gathering information?” Gaara guessed.

Kakashi smiled at him. “You certainly didn’t survive this long by playing the fool.”

“No,” Gaara agreed. “My sister tells me my IQ is practically immeasurable.” Gaara remained matter-of-fact about such things. “But I still don’t understand why you want me. There are plenty of DJs for hire. Why get one with my history?”

Kakashi waved a hand. “Sure there are other DJs. But none of them have your unique past, range of experience, or your talent. And that’s not all,” he said leaning forward and eyes serious. “Let me tell you about our other little project: a club called Break.”

Gaara cocked his head and listened to the gray-haired man talk, thinking that life could be rather surprising in its twists, turns, and possibilities.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Kakashi was really, really fun to write in this story. He shows up at the damndest times… Thanks y'all, for reading. <3\. OH! And there was once this super-heated debate over whether or not a tattoo artist would ask if someone was sure. In my experience, it's in the realm of possibility. 
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Epiphany - Staind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pm9KBabovmc). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.  
>   
> So I speak to you in riddles because  
> My words get in my way. I smoke the  
> whole thing to my head and feel it  
> wash away 'cause i can't take anymore  
> of this, I want to come apart.  
> or dig myself a little hole inside  
> your precious heart  
> 'Cause its always raining in my head  
> Forget all the things I should have said
> 
> ∞ Let's remember: GAARA IS A SOCIOPATH AT BEST AND A PSYCHOPATH AT WORST - he is unbalanced, violent, and dangerous. Kiba is crazy in that, "Why CAN'T we get naked, slather ourselves with honey and bait, and feed the rabid Tasmanian devils?" kind of way. It will take a LOT for Gaara to pay attention to Kiba, and it'll take a special _kind_ of skillset to get his attention in the first place. I get a lot of hatemail (but more love notes - thank you) on this story, and that's fine - opinions be cool - but be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ I also get a ton of questions about Jody. Here's the thing: when I started this story, I basically moved so far out of "fandom" and into my AU that I stopped caring whether or not this is technically a "Japanese" or "Anime-friendly" country. Jody was the first character who really wandered in from New Amsterdam - which is really where this story takes place, and less Mono - and decided to hang out for a while. So forgive my not-quite-Japanese-but-with-a-Japanese-name-country weirdness. It's AU. It happens.
> 
> ∞ Fun fact! Jody wasn't supposed to live past the first three chapters. You can thank Azazel999 for his survival.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


	5. Monoshizukanohi at Night

The city noise is a crazed cacophony of sirens, screams, and sibylline whispers. For there is always prophecy on the streets; it can be found in the tired smirk that comes with, “Hey baby, lookin’ for a nice time?” It can be heard in the quiet and desperate plea of the fallen: “Man…I _need_ it. Fuck...” It can be seen in the shuffle of a staggering man, made great by his shoes and laid low by his booze. It’s in the eyes of the woman who screeches into the hand over her mouth for help and God. It’s in the dulcet tones of the jazz club, open late so everyone can find the blues.

Prophecy: Pleasure and pain. Uptown and downtown. Alleyways and ballrooms.

It’s all the same in the card game of Fate. She doesn’t see flesh and blood: she sees pawns and toys.

And we’re all her bitch. There is no escape.

Cities in darkness are Fate’s favorite playground. The tired, the poor, the hungry, the rich and broken…all here, all eager for a deal. What’s your price? Bid high, buy low? Sell out, go for broke?

There is no rest for the sinner, and Monoshizukanohi is a sinner’s paradise. Everyone knows that no city sleeps – not truly. The taxis crawl, the buses blow air and brake, and the trains rumble under the ground like planned earthquakes.

High above the razz and grumble, a woman stands at a picturesque window. It must have been a selling point for the real estate agent who brokered this deal –

(Agents of locational Fate)

\- as were the fireplace and the stone tile in the bathrooms. Behind the woman at the window furniture in white modern and chrome stands in carefully arranged patterns of flow and feng shui. A fern, a table, a counter, a decorative bowl…all owned and purchased with a careful eye and placed with a deft hand.

That same hand reaches out and leaves fingerprints on the glass. She sucks a drag on her cigarette and remembers for the hundredth time that those things are going to kill her. With a sigh, she sees herself reflected in the glass and eyes her dark hair and remembers a time when it was another color: bright pink. The rebellious phase: the fuck-the-man phase…

The phases that often bring Sakura patients: young kids with track marks and deep wells for eyes. The city isn’t kind to youth…Sakura wonders as she gazes out and down onto the crawling lights below if youth is now a myth.

Maybe people are just born ancient and embittered.

Sakura stubs out the cigarette and drops it into an empty bottle of Grey Goose. She wants a bath and bed and distraction. With a sweep of silk robe and a sway of curved hip, she leaves the window and passes down a hallway toward a bathroom. It’s late, but she doesn’t mind – this is a Thursday tradition.

Depression, vodka, bath, and the radio.

Not necessarily in that order.

Sakura’s pink nail touches the volume on the tiny stereo on the bathroom counter, and a familiar voice fills the silence and occupies a void. It’s a temporary comfort to this beautiful doctor – and with a smile she walks across the cold, tile, floor.

 _“Dark nights and dim days, Monoshizukanohi,_ ” the voice says. And across town in a dim room lit by a lamp covered in a red cloth and a panel full of blinking instruments, a man grins around an unlit cigarette into a microphone. He brings a heavy, metal lighter up to the mic. There’s a metallic noise as he flips it open, a click as he strikes the flint, a flare as he ignites the cig, and a slow exhale as he blows out death.

_“It’s Thursday, it’s two minutes ‘til midnight, and this is WKDS: all hits, all the time. And you know what that means…”_

Sakura sits and lets the bath fill. She does know. And she whispers the next words along with the deep, ethereal voice coming through with crystal clarity:

_“Means it’s time for me, DJ Stryke, to start up Open Line. Bite me, Monoshizukanohi…I wanna feel your teeth tonight.”_

Smiling, Sakura trails fingers under the water and the blat of a fire engine goes unnoticed on the streets far below the 47th floor. The engine blares horn and siren and the red lights paint bloody patterns on the buildings and the slightly damp streets as it crawls through an intersection. Cars try to get out of the way, and a taxi nearly hits a small boy, standing just off the sidewalk waiting to cross.

“Bitch!” the kid – twelve and oh-so punk – screams, one ineffectual fist slamming on the hood of the taxi. “I’m walkin’ here!”

“Fuck off!” the driver calls through the open window in a thick accent of indeterminate origin. Damned fool kids. Damned fire truck. Damned city and pedestrians and college drunks…

 _“Sink ‘em in deep, kids,”_ the voice says on the radio in the taxi as the fire truck weaves through traffic. _“It’s dark and dank out there. Not cold enough to snow, but cold enough to leave ya numb. City smells like wet dog and I can hear the queens in their heels on the slick pavement, now. There’s this whore over on 18th…she’s got sequins on her lips and a dick below her hips. You there, gorgeous? You wanna blow me?”_

The taxi driver smirks and shakes his head. Stryke’s show was the most popular in town, and nobody knew how he cut through the censor bullshit.

And nobody cared.

The fire truck finally clears the intersection, the punk kid crosses, the taxi grabs a fare, and somewhere further away in a three-storey town house a man groans around and through an open-mouth gag. Tongue dry and jaws aching, his teeth clench into the gel padding circling the hard, short shaft prying his lips apart. His arms are bound with black cord laced through opera gloves behind his back. His eyes are covered with a jet-black satin blindfold. He is bent over a black-and-chrome pedestal, torso bound down by a strap and legs spread wide by a bar and heavy ankle cuffs. Sweat beads and slips across his smooth forehead and into his messy gray hair.

“That’s it, bitch,” Iruka says from behind Kakashi, voice far colder and entirely different than the one he reserved for his students. “Take it and moan for more.”

Iruka carefully pushes another golf ball-sized bead into Kakashi’s ass. The beads are attached by a heavy, plastic cord and there are five in total.

 _“Ooh-oh, what’s this?”_ says the voice on the radio attached to a wall behind the engrossed pair. _“The board’s lightin’ up, kids. I think I’ve got at least a nibble…let’s see if the first one leaves a mark.”_

Iruka smiles and pushes the fourth bead inside the prone man before him. Kakashi shivers, knowing what’s coming and is so hard in his cockrings he can barely breathe.

_“Stryke here. Speak.”_

_“Hey man…it’s Bent.”_

_“Bent, my man!”_ Stryke says, voice raising in recognition. _“You got ‘im with ya?”_

_“Fuck yeah, man…he can’t talk though. He hears your voice and…”_

_“Feels the need to occupy his mouth?”_

There’s laughter and banter coming through the speakers as Iruka shoves in the last bead. He pets Kakashi’s lower back with one gloved hand, and his chuckle matches the men on the radio as he fingers the control at the end of the string. He flips it on, and the miniature bullets inside the balls up Kakashi’s ass all begin vibrating in sync.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Iruka says. “I love it when you make _that_ noise.”

Kakashi all-but screams and whines as Iruka walks around to Kakashi’s front. He grabs Kakashi’s hair and yanks his head back. The open-gag is just the right size for a good face fuck.

“Stuffed and screaming…shit, Kaka, baby, I’m going to shoot down your throat and then watch you dance and come until you pass out.”

And the words are almost tender as Iruka unzips and slides his cock into Kakashi’s eager, groaning mouth.

 _“Tell him to be a good little bitch and suck ya dry,”_ Stryke says on the radio. In the dark room, he finishes one cigarette and lights up another one – the same metallic and breathy noises from earlier filling the radio silence for two or three seconds.

 _“Looks like Bent’s occupied…God I love a good mouth slut…give me a moaning pretty boy around my cock any day of the week.”_ He hums: a satin noise over the airwaves that makes at least a hundred women and even more men shudder in collective want.

_“Or better yet…a good, sweet little sub who’s bitten me black and blue and punched my balls numb before finally admitting defeat and takin’ it like the bitch he is.”_

All the way across town – outside of the city limits and beyond the reach of planned suburbia - Tenzou shakes his head. He wears an old flannel shirt and faded jeans, and the light in his workshop makes him look older than he really is. It’s a large space full of half-finished pieces of furniture, slabs of beautiful wood, tables and tools. The air smells of forest and sawdust and sweat. The stereo system is state-of-the-art and carefully concealed beneath a plastic dome on the wall. The speakers are surround-sound, as Tenzou likes music when he works late into the night. He carefully marks measurements on a piece of roped trim and thinks that Stryke is a cocky, entertaining asshole.

_“But you know all this, people of the night. We’ve talked about it before. You know all about my perversions, my preferences, the games I like to play. And this show ain’t about me, is it? It’s about you, pretty boys and girls.”_

“Somehow, I seriously doubt you feel that way,” Tenzou comments as he takes the trim over to a miter saw. For a moment, a high-pitched buzz drowns out the radio as Tenzou cuts the edging.

_“…darkest secret fetish. Come on…Stryke’s horny and lonely tonight, boys and girls. Got shit on my mind, and I need your help to shut it down.”_

Tenzou snorts. He begins marking another bit of edging and thinks about the times when playing and subs and fetishes were more his stock in trade than wood. He builds the equipment now and never uses his own, the beautiful cherry pieces collecting dust. Tenzou can’t imagine a world where he’d want to play again…not after…

Switching the radio off and the disc changer on, _Un Bel Di Vedremmo_ fills the shop and Tenzou’s ears, and right now he much prefers _Madam Butterfly_ to Stryke’s insatiable public lust. He ups the volume and sound leaks out from around the doors and windows of the shop and up into the night air: notes of sorrow and want swirling in the misty rain.

And unknown to Tenzou, high up on a ridge nearby and deep inside a house that looks like it hails from bad gothic opera, the same aria plays from paint-splattered speakers. The room looks like one with which Tenzou would be very familiar. However – this room acts more like an altar to oil and turpentine rather than a shrine to flesh and pain.

A pale, pale hand guides a wide brush over a canvas that stands twelve feet tall. There are other such canvases around the room, most of them finished and some of them covered by white sheets or plastic. There are no windows in this dungeon – and that is truly what it is: a wide, long, stone room filled with the dim lights of lamps and flameless candles. Here creativity is shackled and harnessed, its keeper often hidden away in the darkness by choice and affectation.

He does not care that there is a world outside. He does not mind that people wouldn’t understand how he works or why. No mind is paid to the leftover food on plates on the cold floor, nor to the disarray of paints and brushes and littered chaos of artistic style. The music is even lost on deaf ears, for the only thing this man knows and sees are the people that want to crawl from his mind, snake down his arm, and leak out in brilliant color from brush tips.

A door opens, the hinges giving an ominous creak, but Sai doesn’t pause or take note in the slightest. On silent feet, the old butler and caretaker comes into the room, removes the empty plates and sets down a bottle of water. He gives momentary pause at the music in the room – he chose the CD and set it up earlier today. Sai was in one of his darker moods – evident only by a slight twitch in brow and tightness of lip – and sometimes new inspiration calms the most emotionless of beasts.

And it paid to keep the artist and money-maker happy, and Danzou feels touched that the music is on until he realizes that it’s just still playing from earlier today.

Oh well…at least the kid was listening.

Heading back up narrow stone stairs, Danzou breathes a sigh of relief when he reaches the well-lit kitchen. Taking food and nourishment to the young master was always tricky…one never knew if he would be thanked or have a pallet knife thrown at his head in silent commentary on the interruption.

 _“Oooh, orgies, huh?”_ Stryke says from the radio on the granite counter. _“Not the most unusual I’ve ever heard, but fun…ever done one?”_

 _“Sure,”_ says the caller. _“There’s this guy I know. Has quite the rig at home – whole big room set up for sex and blood and pain. Doesn’t use it right, but sometimes he’ll have these parties. He’s this high-brow political fuckwad, but he knows his shit. I’ll give him that.”_

 _“Yeah?”_ Stryke says, breathy against the mic. _“Go on…”_

In an upscale neighborhood in a house that shows both taste and ambition, Neji cocks an eyebrow and turns his slender neck to stare at the tiny speaker in the corner of the family room.

“Move already,” Shikamaru grumbles on the other side of the Go board.

“I recognize that voice,” Neji says softly.

“Which one?” Shika asks, thinking Neji looks like a god at peace with his hair loose like that over his bare chest.

“Both,” Neji replies. “Even if he does clean up the street accent for the show. But I think the caller is Zabuza.” His lip twists in distaste.

Shika frowns. “You had Zabuza here? I thought you hated that guy…”

Neji shakes his head. “He’s never been here. He’s recounting someone else’s story.”

For a second or two, both men listen as Zabuza talks of whips and chains and fuck fests the likes of which Neji would never allow under his roof.

 _“Sounds like a hot time,”_ Stryke says, laughing low and slick into the microphone.

“Does it now?” Neji asks rhetorically. “Do so wish someone had invited me to my own party.”

“Neji…move already. Ignore it.”

“Impatient little thing,” Neji says, but he’s smiling.

“You like me demanding.”

“I like you begging, pet,” Neji replies, finally making his move.

“And if you win? I’ll beg you prettier than I’ve ever done before.”

Neji laughs and Shika smiles, thinking that Go is far more entertaining when he plays his Master.

_“But come on kids…orgies? Spanking? Is this the best you people can do? I’m bored here…been there, done those asses, got the brand to prove it. I know there are more freaks in this city than there’re lawyers. Somebody’s gotta have a story for me…a real one. A good one…come on, Monoshizukanohi…bite me.”_

Several plots of land over from where Neji and Shikamaru play games to determine the rules for other games, a beautiful blond man sits at a wide vanity wearing a blue robe that brings out his eyes. This house is more lavish than Neji’s and there are a surprising number of floral patterns in the formal rooms. The bathroom where the blond sits is done in shades of blue – the colors swirling like the etchings of a deep bruise.

“I could totally give you a story that’d make you cry…Stryke.” The blond’s full mouth twists, and he speaks the DJ’s name like a curse. With a dainty sigh, the man leans forward and touches a finger to his lips, applying a bit of gloss. Then he leans back and pulls his thick tresses over one shoulder, dividing the hair to make a braid.

“Talking to yourself again?”

The blond’s eyes flick up to the naked redhead entering the bathroom.

“To the radio.”

“Why do you listen if you hate the guy?” Sasori asks as he pulls the hair away from Deidara’s hands to braid it himself. Deidara lets him, eyes on his lover in the mirror.

“I like random acts of hatred.”

Sasori looks up into the mirror and meets Deidara’s gaze. He does not smile, does not even portray real interest or emotion with his face.

But his dick twitches and Deidara grins like a cat in heat at the sight.

“Want to hate me tonight, baby?” Deidara whispers.

Sasori grips Deidara’s hair hard enough to pull several strands loose. Deidara gasps and moves with Sasori’s hand as his head is yanked back to a painful angle and a hand closes over the front of his throat.

“Fucking whore,” Sasori whispers softly.

“Go to hell.” And Deidara shivers even as he spits the words. He loves this game. Sasori’s brutality and sculpture were the only two things in life worth a damn, really.

“Hell’s the new Eden compared to what I’m going to do to you.” Sasori shoves and pushes Deidara to the tile floor. The blond’s robe falls open, and he’s hard even as he scrambles in a sham to escape.

“Get away from me!” Deidara screams, angry and afraid with blue eyes blazing.

_“…because that’s the true bitch of it all. We’re human and we like fear. We feed on it, we crave it. We fuckin’ love it.”_

Sasori chases Deidara across the floor and grabs his legs, jerking him back with a growl. Deidara’s skin makes a painful noise as it slides frictionless across the tile, and he will have pressure burns on his delectable ass the next day.

Deidara kicks at Sasori, loving the look of pure rage that flashes over the man’s face. With a high cry, he connects foot to chest and shoves – making Sasori yell profanity that would shame the fisher’s wife.

_“I love a little danger. A little edge play. Things just on this side of sanity. And judging by how many calls I’ve got on hold? You people are beggin’ for that kind of kinky ass shit, too.”_

Deidara fights and screams and howls like a panther, but Sasori’s hands grab him and manhandle him out of the bathroom and toward the bed. Deidara feels his skin give and bruise, feels nails bite and draw blood. The fucking’s going to be rough and delicious, and Deidara’s screaming profanity and cries of rape even as he lets Sasori throw him down. The redhead smacks Deidara’s beautiful face with the exact right amount of force, and Deidara starts to cry and plead with skill that would put any Hollywood actor to shame. His cock leaks and he manages choking sobs when Sasori hits his ass, legs, and back so hard Deidara swears he sees stars.

_“Talk to me. Confess. Tell me you want it. Tell me you need it. I’m here for ya, girls and boys. Let me absolve you tonight of your need to get righteously fucked.”_

When Sasori thrusts into the dry heat of his lover’s body, Deidara’s orgasm rips him into pieces: an explosion of agony and bliss.

“Oooh _FUCK_ yes – Master…thank you…thank you…” Deidara pants and shakes and loves it all so much he feels like he’ll die.

“Such a slut,” Sasori comments with a hint of affection.

“Shut up and fuck me, baby.” Deidara sits up and grabs at the hair at the nape of Sasori’s neck, pulling. “Make me your whore,” the blond says, looking at the redhead’s delicious mouth.

Sasori complies – a real grin splitting his face. Deidara is his match, and he wants to break and bleed and hold all at once.

 _“Stryke. I think you go too far tonight.”_ The caller is poised, composed and has a deep voice.

_“Whaddya mean, babe?”_

_“Your show is always edgy and without reasonable restraint. But tonight you seem particularly spirited.”_

_“You callin’ to complain or just make these brilliant little deductions on my air time?”_ Stryke sounds amused rather than irritated.

_“My calling does indicate an interest in your show; a true complaint would do nothing but encourage you.”_

_“…so you like what I’m sayin’, then?”_

_“I was wondering if there was something that might have inspired this extra bit of commentary. That’s all.”_ The caller’s voice stays smooth – he speaks with purpose. But there’s an undercurrent of anxiety in the modulated tone.

 _“Well,”_ Stryke says, as though considering. He leans back in his chair, the loose bolts creaking with his weight. He drags the microphone back with him and idly strokes his erection through his pants before finishing his sentence.

_“It could be I’ve got a hot little redhead on his knees under my control panel…”_

The caller’s breath hitches, and thousands of listeners are grateful they’re awake tonight, work be damned in the morning. This is too hot, too good – too bloody intimate to miss.

_“…and I could be wishin’ you were here with him, love.”_

With a gasp, Hinata covers her mouth with one hand. She’s sitting in her hybrid car, stopped at a light. Her home is a cottage merely three streets away, and she considers driving around the block a few times just so she can listen a while longer. The work at the health club is finished – finally – for the night, so she can go in late tomorrow. Stryke is her one guilty pleasure…and tonight’s show seems to have no holds barred.

 _“Like that, do you?”_ Stryke says. The caller is still on the line – everyone can hear him breathing.

 _“No,”_ the caller replies. But the word sounds forced.

 _“Bullshit. You wanna be here with your mouth around my dick and my fingers up your tight ass. Admit it baby.”_ In the dark, the cig flares and smoke curls. Stryke’s lips pull back to reveal rather wickedly pointed canines. _“Nobody knows who you are or what you do…it’s just you and me. Tell me what ya want.”_

Kankuro blows out smoke into the wide cavern of darkness above him. He lays on his back on the university theatre’s stage, legs hanging over the edge. The ghost light is on – hanging from a hook on stage left – and the props are put away. Kankuro should really go home…

…but he swears he knows the voice of the refined caller currently acting as Stryke’s latest victim. It’s so familiar, Kankuro can almost taste it. So, he stays: one arm under his head, the other on his stomach, and a cigarette hanging from his lips. He waits and listens with unhealthy curiosity.

_“Come on…ya want me to tell you how I’d make you break? What I’d do to get ya on your knees for me? Or on all fours, your ass at my hands so I can tease you while you please me?”_

There is a moment of collective focus among Stryke’s listeners: men in chairs with beer in hand, women in bed listening on headphones while their husbands snore, ten-year-olds with wide eyes, drunk on illicit conversation and rule breaking, taxi drivers, drug addicts, at least six ministers and a dozen priests…

All made even by want and human interest.

 _“…no.”_ The caller hangs up and Stryke’s laugher fills the airwaves, and everyone breathes a sigh. Some laugh, some curse, some think they would have played a far better game with Stryke than the idiot caller.

_“Such a little liar. And we all know it, don’t we? He didn’t even leave a mark, Monoshizukanohi. Now I’ll forget him by tomorrow…but he’ll dream about me for a week.”_

“God he’s an arrogant bastard.” The speaker eyes his two cards and then studies the flop. Pocket queens were fabulous…but there was an ace on the board. Damnit.

“They all are,” says the exceptionally pretty man across the table. He folded before the flop and now sits with his hands in his lap, eyes lowered.

“Who are?”

“Doms.”

“Can we play cards without bringing all that shit up? For once?” The large man who speaks now checks his hand and thinks he really ought to try to find another poker game. Not only was this one out of his way to get to, but the pretty boy was a card shark if ever there was one. He firmly suspects the early fold was just part of a long, complicated strategy.

“Oh come on, Asuma. Kimimaro isn’t complaining, and he works in that shit you’re referring to with mocking distaste.”

“Kimimaro never complains, Genma” Asuma retorts and stubs out his cigar. The room in Genma and Raidou’s basement is hazy with old smoke after hours of poker and good-natured ribbing. “And really – can you not go one night a week without thinking like a damned sex-crazed animal?”

Genma grins and rolls the toothpick between his lips to the other side of his mouth. “You sure you want me to answer that?”

“Enough, Genma,” Raidou says from Genma’s left. “Asuma makes a fair point and gets enough of this talk in the kitchen over at Glow.”

“Glow can’t be too far removed from Break as far as inspiring conversation goes,” Asuma mutters.

“Not true,” Kimimaro says, raising a dollar. “Conversation is entirely different at Break.”

“Yes,” Haku agrees from next to Kimimaro, eyes still down.

“Fine,” Asuma submits with his eyes rolling. “I know nothing about your world. Let’s just play the last hand and call it a night.”

“He’s still an arrogant prick,” Genma grumbles. He finds it puzzling that Kakashi ever invited Asuma to Break. Maybe he did it to be polite? Or because he knew Asuma would find out everything working at Glow so it just made sense to give the invite? He and Raidou liked to go on event nights…mostly to watch the rich and famous play and make fools of themselves. Ibiki got them their key – something that still made Genma slightly nervous for some reason.

But all that was beside the point: Asuma’d never set foot in such a club – Kurenai would kill him. At least…Genma _thought_ she would…

And then all thoughts are gone as Genma’s heart soars when another pretty lady appears on the turn.

“Well, that’s no secret, is it?” Raidou says idly.

“Nah,” Genma agrees, trying to play it cool despite the three bitches who will win him this hand, he feels sure. “But still…he’s worse than Uzumaki.”

“Now that I find hard to believe,” Asuma says and folds. Genma was betting sly and hard – he had something.

“I would venture to say he’s actually an intriguing combination of Master Uzumaki and Master Hyuga,” Kimimaro interjects as he calls the hand.

It’s just creepy the way Kimimaro never really left Break…even when he was, actually, away from the club. Genma flips the toothpick in his mouth and tries not to think about it. Those two were Raidou’s friends for whatever reason. The guy brought home some of the strangest people.

“But he likes the whip more than either of them,” Haku says very quietly. For a moment, all eyes are on the pretty boy who never seems to age a day over eighteen. None of them really know what to say to that. But Kimimaro smiles at the man-child, which creeps Genma out. There is too much metal in Kimimaro’s lips to make a smile a cheerful affair on a good day, after all.

But then the words and the mental images are forgotten as Genma wins the final pot of the night with a whoop of triumph that makes Raidou laugh.

 _“No, thank YOU, babe,”_ Stryke says to a caller who spent ten minutes describing her ankle fetish. _“Where would we be without ankle freaks? Cut off at the knees?”_

The city groans and many people switch off the dial. Time for work. Time for bed. Time for late-night pleasures to draw to a close.

But those weary individuals succumbing to slumber will be unhappy tomorrow, for those who still listen hear the sounds of Stryke rustling in the studio. They hear the cap of a bottle undone and the final click of the lighter. And then they hear a long sigh.

_“You’ve been good to me tonight, citizens of this great metropolis. Bearers of freakdom. Hidden closet cases of need. So I owe ya a story. It’s not finished…hell, it’s not started. But it’s mine, and I need you to hear it tonight.”_

“Oh this oughta be good.”

“Fuck off and go to _sleep_ , goddammit!”

“You’re so cute when you cuss, Sasuke.”

Sasuke pulls a pillow over his head to prevent him from saying more things that will distract Naruto from his best friend’s show. That could upset Naruto, and Sasuke didn’t want that right now. He hurt in places he’d truly forgotten he could hurt thanks to earlier games, and all he wanted was Naruto’s warm body against his own and sleep.

But that wouldn’t happen until the show was over. Naruto listened every week he was in town without fail or attention to distraction.

No matter how tempting said distraction might be. Sasuke learned that long ago and doesn’t try to fight the pattern now.

But it certainly didn’t stop Sasuke from occasionally voicing a vocal opinion or ten on how he felt about said pattern.

 _“There’s a guy out there tonight who doesn’t even know my name,”_ Stryke says and pauses to smoke.

Naruto takes pity on his lover and turns the volume down on his ancient alarm clock. He studies Sasuke’s bruised back as he listens, smiling in an odd combination of affection and perplexity.

_“He’s beautiful – of course he is. And brilliant – or so I hear. He’s off-limits. Untouchable. A pot of gold at the end of a red and teal rainbow.”_

Now Naruto frowns and Sasuke – who can’t sleep until Naruto curls around him, anyway – rolls over to cuddle in Naruto’s lap. Absently Naruto strokes Sasuke’s back – touches feather-light so as not to cause pain. That was earlier – the pain. Now was time for gentleness and pleasure, and there’d been plenty of both for one night.

But what the hell is this all about? Naruto frowns, somewhat hurt at the words on the radio waves.

But leave it to Kiba to confess undying love on his goddamned show without even bothering to tell his best friend about it first.

“He probably didn’t plan this,” Sasuke whispers from Naruto’s lap. “It’s just on his mind now, and so he’s talking…”

Naruto squeezes Sasuke’s shoulder in a gesture that means ten things – all communicated without words.

 _“I know a lot about this guy who doesn’t even know my name. I know where he works, where he lives, what he likes to do. I know what kind of car he drives and what kind of music he likes…”_ Kiba stops speaking to chuckle. _“I’m a good little stalker, boys and girls. But I swear most of that information was easy to get. He wears daily life on his sleeve – an open book. But the rest…”_

When Kiba stops speaking, his listeners ache for the tone in his gruff-and-gritty voice. They recall lost loves and first kisses and crushes that never went anywhere.

Fate, fate…the fickle queen. She is death and destruction and love and sanctuary.

Oblivious to everything having to do with fate or the city save one or two key points, the object of Kiba’s desire takes turns at something roughly approaching the speed limit, and Beast’s new tires cling to the road without issue. The windows are down – the night mist nearly freezing on his hand as it rests on the door. Gaara doesn’t give a shit – he sucks cold air into his lungs and easily guides the refinished Caddy into the drive of Akasuna Auto. His mind is on the set he did tonight at Bliss, the paperwork he needs to do for the shop, and if there was any of that odd chicken casserole that Jody made the other night still in the fridge.

The headlights sweep over the auto shop and Gaara heads up his driveway. His is on the left, Jody’s on the right. Gaara’s house is a Mediterranean affair with pools and lanai. Jody’s house is a traditional cottage with a wide front porch – like his mama had when Jody was little and she was alive.

Gaara stretches in the seat and replays the set in his mind, looking for imperfections. He’s really come to enjoy his time spinning for the various clubs owned by some of the most powerful people in the city, and he takes the job seriously.

Not that Gaara really knows how to take things any other way, really.

And as he plays song and bridges in his mind, he vaguely remembers the man with the odd face paint who watched him spin the other night. The guy looked faintly familiar – but Gaara was too absorbed in his music to sort it out. And now, as he drives home, he pushes the man out of sight and mind. It is filed away as unimportant, and he has no idea that he has struck the curiosity of one famous on-air personality.

And he never listens to the radio.

Gaara pulls the Caddy into the garage attached to his house and prepares for the ritual of food, bathing, and bed.

 _“But don’t worry, boys and girls,”_ Kiba says, draining the last of his Jack and Coke and thinking dark thoughts about long nights and love tattoos. _“I have ways of gettin’ attention…and I think I’ve had enough of the stalking shtick. Might have to up the ante and turn up the heat. And of course…I’ll keep you informed.”_

Kiba’s teeth gleam in the dim light one last time, his lips practically kissing the microphone.

_“Until then, Monoshizukanohi…sleep well. Dream dark. Long nights and short days to you and yours. It’s time to go home and lick my wounds. Keep it here for more WKDS hits – but they won’t be as good as mine.”_

Kiba turns off the mic, and across the city, people mimic the movement with their own radio dials.

Sakura turns off her lamp, sighing into her pillow.

Iruka and Kakashi hold one another in their bed, the sheets shoved down to the bottom of the mattress and Kakashi snoring lightly.

Tenzou sits in his workshop in one of his own chairs, thinking he should sleep as soon as this song was over. One more song…a few more minutes before surrendering to a sleeping pill to make him rest.

Sai paints – oblivious to time, bodily needs, radio shows, or the sound of Danzou hitting “repeat” on the paint-covered stereo before slipping away again to get some rest.

Neji thrusts into Shika’s willing body and thinks not for the first time that Shikamaru lost the game on purpose. But when Shika moans his name – _“Master, oh fuck me harder, Master!_ ” – Neji can’t find it in himself to give a good damn.

In his sleep, Sasori rolls over and pulls Deidara to him. The blond wakes up enough to smile and run slim fingers through red locks before sighing and putting a leg over Sasori’s hip. And in this way, Deidara holds Sasori through the only time he’s ever willing to be vulnerable: dreamtime.

Hinata dreams of her childhood friend, Naruto, and hugs a stuffed fox in her wide bed.

Kankuro lies on his couch thinking of the mysterious, reluctant caller with the pretty voice. He reaches one hand down to stroke himself, thinking it’d be perfect to come and fall asleep while that sound is still clear in his mind.

The poker game is over, and Kimimaro takes Haku home, holding his hand in a friendly way.

Asuma manages not to wake Kurenai as he crawls into bed – he smiles at her before laying down, grateful for a normal, happy life.

Genma calls out Raidou’s name as he comes down the back of his lover’s throat, the orgasm making his toes curl and the air leave his lungs. It’s so, so good.

With Naruto’s weight finally curled around him, Sasuke drifts off to sleep with a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He’s never more amiable than after they play, and Naruto kisses the back of his beloved’s neck as he, too, stumbles onto the always-crowded streets of dreamland.

Gaara eats cold chicken in his dark kitchen and doesn’t think it unusual or lonely.

And across the way, Jody slides out from under an old Volkswagen with a thoughtful look on his face. He hopes Gaara found the chicken casserole and thinks it’s time to hit the hay.

But outside under the three stars and one planet that cut through the light pollution, the city doesn’t dream or sleep or fuck or eat – it waits. Morning will be upon them all soon enough, and with dawn comes more deals to make and rules to break. There is a death toll for every night – penance for sinners and an offering to the little gods of progress and violence and mayhem.

Fate will count her pennies and her pints of blood.

And she will smile upon the denizens of these streets and shops…and quietly bask in shadow until her time comes once again with the turning of the earth and the deepening of twilight.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Notes:  
> Kiba speaks with a sort of nasal, deep-Boston/New England accent. "Car" sounds like "Cah" and "there" sounds like "they-ah." He clips his words, slurs his endings, and talks very fast. BUT! For his radio show, he cleans it up. Hence my choices on sometimes using "ya" or "you."
> 
> Also worth nothing: Naruto sort of speaks this way, too, only to a much lesser degree (working in the Fortune 500 World will make you clean up your act, after all).
> 
> Jody, however, drawls like a southern boy from North Carolina tidal country. His speech is slow, steady, and rolling, and while both he and Kiba might say "ain't" they say it entirely differently.
> 
> I like playing with dialogue. It's what's up.
> 
> Soundtrack  
> Your official Chapter Song is: _[Un bel di Vedremmo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-r2vu4t9-g)_ \-  "One beautiful day, butterfly." It's from Madame Butterfly. All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen.
> 
> Translated Lyrics:  
> One beautiful day,  
> we’ll see a plume of smoke  
> on the far edge of the sea.  
> And then a boat will appear.Then a white ship will come into the port,  
> and sound its horn.  
> Do you see it? He is coming!  
> I won’t go down to meet him, not I.  
> I’ll wait here on the hill and wait  
> and wait a long time…
> 
> Other Things  
> ∞ Let's remember: GAARA IS A SOCIOPATH AT BEST AND A PSYCHOPATH AT WORST - he is unbalanced, violent, and dangerous. Kiba is crazy in that, "Why CAN'T we get naked, slather ourselves with honey and bait, and feed the rabid Tasmanian devils?" kind of way. It will take a LOT for Gaara to pay attention to Kiba, and it'll take a special kind of skillset to get his attention in the first place. Be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ I also get a ton of questions about Jody. Here's the thing: when I started this story, I basically moved so far out of "fandom" and into my AU that I stopped caring whether or not this is technically a "Japanese" or "Anime-friendly" country. Jody was the first character who really wandered in from New Amsterdam - which is really where this story takes place, and less Mono - and decided to hang out for a while. So forgive my not-quite-Japanese-but-with-a-Japanese-name-country weirdness. It's AU. It happens.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


	6. Chapter 6

The church tolled the hour of seven on a Sunday night with clarion bell and the call of birds dislodged from perch. The good citizens of Monoshizukanohi stood up from pews and shook hands with ministers and neighbors, children already running down the aisles toward the exits and doors. Dinner and Xbox were on their minds – not necessarily in that order.

One such kid – the same one who was prone to bang on the hoods of taxis and curse like a sailor with Mother out of earshot – dashed across the street just as a red, vintage Cadillac drew near. Gaara’s expression didn’t change as he slowed for the pedestrian traffic coming out of Saint Mary’s. He did it because there were cops patrolling the streets and because he didn’t want ticket or trouble.

In truth, Gaara obeyed the law less because he had some sort of moral problem with running people over and more because it would play hell on the Caddy’s grill. And he’d just given Beast a bath.

It was these sorts of thoughts that, when voiced, made Brian the Shrink blink nervously and talk of upping medication.

Music pulsed inside the car and Gaara held one pale hand in front of a vent, warming it up. He needed his hands and fingers nimble to spin tonight at Club Break, but he hated to drive while wearing gloves. There was something tactilely pleasing about bare hands on the wheel. The Caddy didn’t do so well on A/C – didn’t have it at all, actually. But it could warm up like a mobile furnace in the winter. That suited Gaara; he liked warmth.

After finally clearing the traffic stall around the church, Gaara made a series of turns that led him up the side of a plateau toward another type of cathedral: Club Bliss. The massive, gothic building sat with buttress and gargoyles at the ready atop a flattened mountain. The club easily held about a thousand individuals without issue or crowding. Two-storey stained-glass windows looked out over the lights of the city, and spires rose into the night sky. Parking lots dug into the plateau in tiers, VIP and staff parking on the top near the building. There was a large garden surrounded by a stone wall to one side of the cathedral-designed dance club; a place for smoking and fucking under the stars. The flattened land ran into a larger mountain and woods well beyond the commercial zoning site, the parking lots well-lit with safety lights.

Gaara understood it took a small fortune to build the place; but small fortunes were easy to come by in this city. He had to look no further than himself as an example.

The parking lots were mostly empty tonight because Bliss wasn’t open. The windows were dark, the fountains were turned off, and the safety lights illuminated the front of the building. Teeth and fang and stone eyes gleamed in the stark white light, making for a rather terrifying illusion if one wasn’t accustomed to the sight.

Gaara paid no attention to looming statuary as he bypassed all the parking tiers and drove through the service parking on the top level. He passed the VIP section –

( _VIP Parking Only: All Others Will Burn_ read the signs)

\- and wove around to a smaller lot near the tree line. Later there would be cars here: limos, BMWs, Mercedes, Ferraris, a Honda or two, and exactly one Caddy. The lot was hidden from view unless one drove around the building, which was the entire point. Park enough shiny, expensive hunks of metal in a parking lot off of a closed club often enough and eventually people would wonder if there were rich people rituals going on in the woods.

Which, Gaara thought as he grabbed his leather jacket from the passenger seat, wasn’t too damned off the mark. He opened the glove box and grabbed a cigarette case. The case was stainless steel and there was a beautifully etched rose on the front. The petals were black stone, inlaid into the metal itself, and Gaara shoved the thing into the pocket of his jacket as he climbed out of Beast. He thrust his hands into his pockets and half-trotted toward the tree line with his head down. A brisk breeze blew by and ruffled his hair, and Gaara shivered with a scowl.

Fucking winter.

To get into Club Break, you needed two things: an invite from a current club member and a passkey. First timers went with the person who invited them, and – if everything worked out and background checks cleared – the newcomer would receive his or her passkey in due time. Naruto took care of ordering the keys, which were nothing more than a microchip embedded somehow into an object. Said object could be just about anything, and most peoples’ passkeys were both decorative and functional.

Once someone had a passkey, there were two ways to access Club Break: through the offices in Club Bliss or through the more hidden back entrance near the tree line. The offices in Bliss were just off the main entryway, and once inside the office it was rather easy to spot the entrance to the club below. The door was heavy oak, and you needed the passkey to work the locks. The door opened onto stone steps that led down into what were referred to as the Catacombs. The main entrance to Club Break was at the bottom of those stairs: along with coat – and other items – check.

The entrance through Bliss was only accessible in limited capacity when Bliss was open – usually by VIP members only – and when the club was open for “private function.” Meaning, of course, that Break was open to the people who received invites. On those nights, Bliss ran as well as Break, the upper club acting as a resting area or quieter place for business deals. Neji and Naruto both were prone to throw parties for the upper crust of the city – inviting people to come and experience the underground for a single night. The Annual Fetish Ball which happened every December was such an event, and they hosted similar parties around Valentine’s and other holidays.

On event nights, Gaara had to divide his time between what he thought of his Bot Self and the Real Deal. He started up a digital set at one DJ station – usually at Bliss – and ran the actual music from the other station. Periodically throughout the night he would wander back and forth as he deemed appropriate, spinning live for a while before plugging the Bot back in. It was a challenge and often tedious and required much attention to detail.

So Gaara enjoyed event nights: less because of the so-called entertainment going on and more because he got to do two sets of his music at once. He liked setting moods and being good at reading the crowd’s energy. He worked hard at the latter. One-on-one, Gaara might have problems with people. But frenzied, lustful, half-insane crowds?

Those Gaara understood.

But tonight was just the usual Sunday at Break. Bliss was closed, and so Gaara trudged to the other entrance to Break with solid determination. The multiple entrances were necessary to meet fire codes: something that had driven Tenzou nearly nuts when he was in the planning stages. Gaara heard him speak of it once after-hours when he first started to spin for the clubs.

Shivering, Gaara reached the small, stone building in short order, and he nodded to the two bodyguards at the entrance. They flanked a set of double doors – both heavy oak. The guards were not visible to people approaching from the parking lot. The doors were on the far side of the building – a bit of planning Gaara found admirable. On nights when Break was closed, this building would just look like a stone storage shed. And tonight when it was open, you had to be on the right side of the building to see that it was guarded.

“Sabaku,” one of the guards said with a nod as Gaara approached. “Welcome.”

Gaara pulled the cigarette case out of his pocket and stepped to the doors. He waved it over the small black panel over the door pulls and heard a small beep. He stepped back and just waited, not responding to the guards. He didn’t know their names, and they didn’t bother to frisk him anymore. Neji put a stop to that when Gaara calmly explained that he would sooner slit his own throat than go without the knives he carried in his boots. Neji said that as long as the knives never came out without provocation or invitation, he would allow them, and the Hyuuga rose in Gaara’s estimation by a fraction or two.

Hulk Number One opened the door for Gaara, and the DJ went inside the tomb without pause. The interior was lit with lamps made to look like they ran on oil, but that was illusion. Everything ran on electricity so far as Gaara knew. Inside the tomb was a set of stone stairs leading down into the ground in a spiral. Gaara’s boots made dull sounds on the pavers as he made his way below the earth into the Catacombs.

At the bottom of the steps was another set of double oak doors. These were open and unguarded, and Gaara stepped into the Catacombs with a sigh. It was warm down here, thank the gods, and he took a moment to scan the hallways.

The design for Break was simple: box within a box. The innermost box was the club itself, and it was accessible by two doors: the one diagonal and across from Gaara, now, and the one near the Bliss entrance.

Both sets of entrance doors and the access doors into Club Break opened onto a long hallway running from the stone steps leading up to Bliss all the way around the rectangle. The hallway stopped on the other side of the stone wall behind the coat check in a dead end. The walls were dark gray stone, lit by the fake-oil lamps, and there were tables holding various pieces of gothic art interspersed here and there for atmosphere. There was also a long, continuous line of chain attached to the interior wall with heavy hooks that bit into the rock face. Shackles hung down from the chain at regular intervals, each pair matching up to a heavy door on the other side of the hallway.

Beyond the doors that opened off the Catacombs were small, private rooms. Some were larger than others, and all came equipped with beds and various pieces of furniture. One such room near the Bliss entrance was kept solely for storage. And the four rooms along the back hallway – the one furthest away from both entrance doors - were kept for the four owners of the club.

Gaara rather liked Break – a much better setup than Haze, in his opinion. It looked professional, eerie without being overdone, and he’d seen subs literally wet themselves when led down into the ‘Combs on an event night. With the right décor and soundtrack, the place was a dungeon out of the worst medieval nightmare. The owners weren’t above using real blood to spice up the place, after all.

Tonight, however, the ‘Combs were just stone hallways. A young woman was shackled across from a door three down from where Gaara stood. She was blindfolded, dressed in a simple black dress, and apparently calm: waiting on her Master or Mistress, no doubt.

Gaara noted the girl’s presence, and then walked diagonally across the wide hallway and waved his passkey again over the door leading into Break proper. The beeping noise sounded again, and Gaara stepped into the interior gloom of Club Break.

_“Shit!”_

Blinking at the emphatic curse, Gaara paused next to the entrance counter beside the door and tried to understand what he saw. Kimimaro sat on the ground, legs akimbo and head in hands, and he was surrounded by what looked like a hundred tiny fans.

Gaara let the door fall shut behind him, and upon further inspection he saw that the fans were miniature replicas of the Uchiha family crest. Carefully he bent down and picked one up.

“Keychain,” Gaara said softly, turning the little fan over in his hands.

Kimimaro looked positively stricken and then his face fell back into its usual neutral mask.

“Apologies, Master Gaara. I wasn’t aware anyone else was here.” Kimimaro scooped the little fan bobbles back to himself, putting them carefully back into the box from which they’d apparently spilled.

“There’s a woman chained in the hallway,” Gaara said helpfully, thinking Kimimaro should know that someone else was in the building.

Kimimaro paused. “She must have come in after I arrived. Chained herself in, most likely.” He sighed. “Thank you for telling me, Master Gaara. I’ll make sure she’s stable in a minute.”

“I’m not your Master,” Gaara said simply, kneeling down to help.

“Don’t.” Kimimaro looked upset again, and Gaara paused with his hand frozen above the box.

“Why?” Gaara asked.

“This was my task, and you shouldn’t…” Kimimaro bit his lip – an impressive feat considering most of his lower lip was studded with metal. “You just shouldn’t.”

Gaara looked at Kimimaro for a second before resuming his assistance. For whatever reason, the man was always leery around Gaara. Well. More so than most people, anyway.

“I disagree,” Gaara said, and Kimimaro gave up the fight with a sigh. They got all the little fans back in the box, and then both stood in synchronized grace. Gaara saw that Kimi had his hair dyed pink at the moment, and he wore his usual red liner under his pale eyes. His clothing was far more casual than Gaara was accustomed to, however: just jeans and a black t-shirt. In point of fact, it was rather unusual to see Kimimaro _wearing_ clothing, now that Gaara thought about it.

“Thank you,” Kimi said, picking up the box. “I’ve got to get these attached to the mini floggers and on the tables before nine, and I just got here.”

“Is it Sasuke’s birthday?” Gaara asked.

Kimi shook his head with a little smile. “No. I’m not sure if he’ll be here tonight. His brother is making his first appearance here at Break.”

Gaara cocked a pale brow and crossed his arms. “Itachi? Doesn’t he usually play over at Haze?”

Kimi nodded. “With Pein, yes. But apparently Master Naruto had dinner with both brothers Uchiha and invited the elder to visit.”

Gaara always found Kimimaro’s way of speaking rather soothing: reverent and other-worldly. “I see,” Gaara said. So perhaps it wasn’t just going to be another Sunday night at Break after all. He frowned as he thought of changing up his set to fit the occasion.

“Were you not told of this?”

Gaara shook his head.

Kimimaro blew out a puff of air. “Well, that makes me feel a bit better. I wasn’t supposed to go on at all tonight, but Kakashi called me this afternoon to say we were expecting an important newcomer.”

“And we give important newcomers mini floggers and fans?” Gaara asked, head tilting to one side.

Kimimaro smiled a little. “It appears we do. I suspect Master Naruto is behind it. He knows Sasuke hates that kind of thing – finds it gauche.”

Gaara nodded, agreeing. Naruto did all sorts of things to annoy his lover. “I’m early,” Gaara said. “I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to --"

“I said I would help,” Gaara calmly repeated. He walked across the room toward the DJ booth. He passed the bar on his right, stopped at the end of it to open the little service gate, and then climbed up into his area. This one was much smaller than the booth he had upstairs, but it was entirely black, with a rounded front carved with the BDSM triskelion.

Gaara shrugged out of his leather coat and turned on his equipment, booting up the turntables and the Mac. The entire system could run on its timers – the sound and lights in Break were wired to a main control panel which Gaara could manage from his booth.

However, Gaara kept his music backed up on Break’s server, and the Mac also had the program to run the Bot. Not to mention some rather nice editing software that let him cut songs on the fly if he felt like it.

“If you want to take this side of the catwalk, I can manage the other,” Kimimaro said. Gaara looked up and saw the man had two smaller boxes in his arms: one held fans, one held mini floggers. “They just go on the tables. The little handles go toward the middle, tails out, and the keychains go to the sides.”

Gaara thought that was overly complicated but he followed along without issue. “Okay,” he said, climbing back down to take the boxes. He set them down on a nearby table and sighed. There were hundreds of the damned things.

“Thank you, Master Gaara,” Kimimaro said quietly.

Gaara scowled. “We’ve been over this.”

Kimimaro shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know how to address you…my employers are Masters even if they are subs. You are not an employer, you are not a sub, nor a Master. You might be a switch, but you don’t play. And we work together.”

“And I suppose just ‘Gaara’ doesn’t fit in your paradigm?” Gaara said wryly.

Kimimaro looked away. He looked tired and anxious: things Gaara could identify easily enough in other people.

Gaara sighed. “Fine. Just call me Red, then.” It wasn’t his favorite moniker, but it would serve the purpose.

“Thank you, Red,” Kimimaro said. He turned and headed toward the far side of the club and Gaara’s mouth twisted up in a near-snarl. People were complicated enough; people deep in the BDSM culture seemed to delight in over-thinking.

Ironic, really.

Gaara moved the box off the table and grabbed four floggers and four fans and began to decorate. There were tons of tables…this was going to take a while.

From above, Club Break was a rectangle. The doors into the room were at the ends of a diagonal from upper left to lower right. The single bar ran along the far left wall, and in the lower left corner was Gaara’s DJ booth. Along the back wall of the club was a long, black, stage. Stairs led up to it from either side, and jutting out into the middle of the room was a catwalk complete with stripper poles. There were two types of poles: ones with strategically placed metal rings and ones without.

Walking down the stairs at the end of the catwalk, one faced the other long wall of the club which was the main lounge area. There were spanking benches, stocks, an assortment of tables, machines, and fine leather chairs and couches. Leather pads ran along the back wall in clear view of all the seating, and chains hung down from the ten-foot ceiling at semi-regular intervals.

In addition to the main lounge area, there were four other play areas: one on either side of the catwalk and two more along the back wall on either side of the stage. The equipment in those areas changed rather often, most of it on wheels with locking mechanisms. Each play area was marked off by a soft, red rug. The floors otherwise were polished stone. The lights were on timers, and usually the air was a gray-red. There were also spot lights mounted on the far wall to highlight the stage or the cages that hung at irregular intervals through the club. All the lights were controlled by the master panel in Gaara’s booth and were programmable.

And there were black, shiny tables bloody everywhere, Gaara thought darkly. There were low tables in the lounge area with a little racks underneath that held cleaning solution, first aid kits, small trash bins, and fire extinguishers. There were tall tables for leaning and watching around the catwalk and the stage. There were long, heavy tables in the play areas that were both decorative and occasionally served as display for subs or for punishment or fucking or all of the above.

As Gaara set out floggers and chains, he thought it amazing that more people didn’t run into the damned tables in the dim gloom of the club. Everything was extremely tasteful – Neji’s touch, no doubt – but the colors were two-tone: black and red.

Well, and silver, Gaara thought, noting the mirrors that ran along walls everywhere it made sense. And the chains - there was enough chain in the place to sink an entire fleet of ships.

“Got the far side done,” Kimimaro said, walking over to the table where Gaara carefully set out four floggers. He nodded once to show he heard the man and finished positioning tails and keychains.

“Looks very good,” Kimi said, looking around. “I cannot thank you enough for your help.”

Gaara just shrugged. He didn’t mind staying busy, and the music was ready to go – though he’d probably have to make some minor tweaks depending on how the night went. He knew nothing about Sasuke’s brother other than the two were recently reconciled after being estranged for years. Naruto was his only source of information about people in the club. The enthusiastic and complicated blond man was also the closest thing Gaara had to a friend aside from Jody, and Gaara tolerated Naruto’s tendency to talk about his lover and all things Sasuke with quiet grace.

“I’m going to go check on the girl. People should start arriving soon enough, and we don’t need hysterics in the hallways for a VIP guest night.”

Gaara made no comment, just moved on to the last table as Kimimaro walked out into the Catacombs. Gaara rather thought the girl would be fine, seeing as she put herself in the shackles in the first place.

As he arranged the final trinket, the door opened and Gaara looked up to see Neji walk into the club. The Hyuga wore a skin tight, black leather bodysuit that zipped from crotch to neck in front. He left most of the top undone, showing ample amount of pale skin beneath the leather. He wore a high metal collar that elongated his neck even more than usual and somehow managed to match the gunmetal gray of his eyes. His hair was pulled back and into a long braid that fell down his back, and his boots came up to his knees and added three inches to his height.

Next to Neji, Gaara felt slightly underdressed in his dark skinny jeans and black t-shirt. But then, the man always looked good; the Hyuga managed to make dom wear look understated and elegant. Gaara let himself admire Neji as he approached.

“Gaara,” Neji said, stopping a few feet away and arching a brow at the table covered in floggers.

“Neji.”

“Didn’t know you were on the decorating committee,” Neji gently teased.

“Kimimaro,” Gaara said by way of explanation.

“Ah,” Neji said. “Kakashi told me that he spoke to Kimi. And that Naruto was insisting on the damned favors.” Neji rolled his eyes. “It’s rather irritating when Uzumaki’s efforts to annoy his sub mean extra work for the rest of us.”

“VIP night?” Gaara asked, picking up the empty box with one hand.

Neji nodded. “Apparently, Naruto managed to convince Uchiha Itachi to pay us a visit. I apologize for not telling you sooner, but it just came to my attention this afternoon.”

Gaara didn’t respond except to begin walking over to the host stand next to the back entrance. He set the box down, not sure where it needed to go, and Neji followed along after him, hands behind his back.

“Itachi’s a switch,” Neji said. “And we’re not sure if he’ll play tonight or just observe. I imagine a lot depends on his brother. I’d like to request that you keep the music volume slightly lower than normal – there will be a fair amount of pleasantries to exchange before the shows start.”

“Fine,” Gaara said, nodding amiably.

“Spotlights on the stage and play areas, please. We’ll illuminate our finer points, hide that stain on the back carpet. Need to get that cleaned. Kimi’s show will start at ten, and I expect the usual cast of characters. We shut down at one, so do the usual wrap up starting around midnight. I don’t want a late night, Itachi or no.”

Gaara made note of the instructions, mentally agreeing.

“That should do it.” Neji smiled. “Everything good for you?”

“Yes,” Gaara said simply

“Excellent. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go tend to a few things. I leave it in your capable hands.”

Gaara nodded respectfully and then turned to go start the warm-up music. He liked Neji’s cool professionalism; there was no need for small talk or preamble with the Hyuga. Just business, thank you kindly, as Jody would say.

Shutting the service gate behind him, Gaara climbed into his booth and slid on his headset. Vaguely he registered that Kimi returned with one of the hosts for the evening – one half of a pair of extremely androgynous twins that usually manned the coat check and host stand. Gaara flicked switches, set up lights, and a steady beat began to come from the sound system.

And with practiced ease, Gaara submerged into the music and waited for the night to begin.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ KIMI! :D
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Fine Again - Seether](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrpcICY2TVY). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> And I’m not scared now.  
> I must assure you,  
> you’re never gonna get away  
> And I’m not scared now.  
> And I’m not scared now. No… 
> 
> I am aware now of how  
> everything’s gonna be fine one day
> 
> ∞ Let's remember: GAARA IS A SOCIOPATH AT BEST AND A PSYCHOPATH AT WORST - he is unbalanced, violent, and dangerous. Kiba is crazy in that, "Why CAN'T we get naked, slather ourselves with honey and bait, and feed the rabid Tasmanian devils?" kind of way. It will take a LOT for Gaara to pay attention to Kiba, and it'll take a special kind of skillset to get his attention in the first place. I get a lot of hatemail on this story, and that's fine - opinions be cool - but be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ I also get a ton of questions about Jody. Here's the thing: when I started this story, I basically moved so far out of "fandom" and into my AU that I stopped caring whether or not this is technically a "Japanese" or "Anime-friendly" country. Jody was the first character who really wandered in from New Amsterdam - which is really where this story takes place, and less Mono - and decided to hang out for a while. So forgive my not-quite-Japanese-but-with-a-Japanese-name-country weirdness. It's AU. It happens.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


	7. Chapter 7

Gaara slowly swiveled his gaze around the room and thought about sex.

Break was a dark, growling, rabid beast barely contained by the leash of walls and accepted rules of conduct. The air was red, the shadows long, and cries of pain and pleasure rose above the music composed and controlled at Gaara’s fingertips.

The VIP of the night fit right into the crowd. Itachi’s shoulders and body were relaxed beneath his flowing white shirt and loose leather pants, and he greeted everyone with a neutral face and bow of his head. Naruto and Sasuke did show – had arrived just before Itachi – and now the trio gathered around a table near the stage, talking. Itachi idly played with one of the mini floggers – which were a great hit, actually. Delighted chuckles erupted when the regulars saw their favors and much playful experimentation went on to see how hard the small toys could hit.

On the stage, Kimimaro performed, his skin naked except for the extensive metal through various bits of flesh. Rings and bars gleamed from ears, mouth, nose, nipples, navel, cock, and back. Ribbons and chain looped and connected some of the piercings, and in this light the fabric looked like blackened blood. Kimi was both a piercing artist and a contortionist, and he could move in ways that made an audience shiver, cry out, and pant.

As Gaara watched, Kimi kicked up and wrapped his legs and then body upside-down around a pole. He ground and gyrated, earning soft applause from the men and women at the tables close to the stage. Gaara’d seen the show hundreds of times, but he still found it a fascinating study in anatomy and musicality.

Gaara adjusted a dial and some settings so he could switch from Kimi’s music to his set with relative ease. The show gave him time to rest and watch, and tonight there was no shortage of entertainment. In front of the booth, play area two was lively. A sub kneeled with bound arms and spread knees on the carpet. He held a flat, wooden, paddle-shaped dish between his teeth. On the widened part of the dish, a plastic cup half-filled with water balanced precariously over a dom’s lap.

That would be difficult enough to manage, Gaara thought, but it was made more interesting by the other sub behind the bound man. That sub slowly but surely fucked the bound cup-bearer with the handle of a rather vicious-looking flogger. Gaara wasn’t sure how long this particular bit of torture could continue, as the bound man was shaking, sweating, and the water was sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the cup. The dom – a brunette woman whom Gaara did not know – appeared the picture of disinterested, her head turned to watch Kimimaro bend himself in half.

Viewing the display, Gaara thought about arousal and how nebulous it was. During his time at Haze, he’d tortured and endured with the best of the club members. He got off and found pleasure and at times even felt closer to master or slave than he did to anyone else on the planet.

But now things were different: new life, new goals, new responsibilities. The medications dulled the edges of lust and craving until they were nothing more than display swords put up for decoration in the hall of past needs. Gaara couldn’t remember the last time he jerked off, much less the last time he truly wanted someone in his bed. That wasn’t so troubling: he spent years selling his body and in that time had experienced a full education of pain and pleasure. Mostly the first. He’d never had a steady lover, and love was still a dream to be chased: a symbol engraved in his skin.

It was hard to miss something when you knew only its shadows.

The world of want and heat and lust seemed very far away, tonight. Every inch between Gaara’s booth and the rest of Break felt like miles. It was the distance between safety and lost control. Gaara’s handlers – his shrink and siblings, mostly – told him that the current status quo was in his best interests, and Gaara could see their point. He was a creature unfit for human games of interaction and nicety, and he could provide thousands of examples to support that theory.

However, standing here and watching scenes unfold and eyes cloud with desire and submission, Gaara wondered where his own opinion fit into this paradigm of restriction. Did he even have an opinion? Did it matter one way or the other if he did?

Gaara’s fingers played over the instrument panel, and he felt confusion swirl and settle in his gut. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought all this, and it wouldn’t be the last. It was one reason he hated the time between gigs; hated the hours sitting in his office that weren’t filled with numbers or Jody’s calm, daily reports. It was the reason why he had two careers and took classes on top of both.

Down time was the enemy…the mischievous devil sent to play havoc upon Gaara’s careful world. It made him long for chaos, wish to flush pills down toilets, and drive Beast to a cliff so he could contemplate wings and gravity or lack thereof.

Beneath the medication and the semblance of civility, Gaara was still the man who pulled a trigger to prove himself worthy of gang war. He was the whore, the leader, the survivor; the untouchable and unshakable teenager aged so far beyond his years he needed immortality to explain his timeline.

Issues could resolve themselves, Gaara could find comfort in friendship, and he could pass time in his early twenties as an observer more than participant of life. He could even move past his childhood abuse with weekly visits to a shrink who thought medication and bloody talking were the secrets to mental health…but he had no idea where that truly left him. Everything still felt –

_Empty._

\--unfocused. Gaara brought a fist to his mouth and absently nibbled at his thumb.

Applause went up in earnest, breaking Gaara’s reverie, and Kimimaro took a bow. Gaara flicked switches on autopilot and immediately the low throb of bass pulsed into the club: a beat perfect for the lash of tails on breakable skin.

Thoughts thankfully vanished and Gaara focused once again on music. The sub spilled the water, and the group got up to drag the boy off to the ‘Combs and to a room where punishment could be meted out appropriately. Gaara spun and mindlessly observed the room: Naruto and Sasuke left early, but the VIP of the night stayed with Neji in the main lounge area, apparently chatting. Iruka and Kakashi nodded at Gaara on their way out – to room or home, Gaara didn’t know or care. Kimi came down into the crowd and a dom set him up in play area one: stocks and paddling to commence.

Time ticked, people flitted by in peripheral vision, and Gaara’s hands danced over turntable and computer.

At midnight, Gaara began the transition toward the end of the evening. The beat of the music slowed, the tones got softer, and the lights began to fade from red-gray haze to mere gloom. Gaara felt his own body begin to unwind in response to the relaxing of the room, and he blew out a sigh as he let his head roll around on his shoulders. He stretched his back, felt the bones pop, and when he opened his eyes, he met the gaze of a semi-familiar man.

He sat sprawled in a black, leather chair that he’d turned to face the DJ booth. One leg was over the low right arm, the other foot flat on the floor. His hands were up with fingers laced behind his head, and he wore nothing but a pair of dark corduroy pants and heavy, black boots. His hair was dark, thick, and unruly and his eyes were of indistinguishable color in the club’s light. Gaara’s gaze swept over heavily muscled arms to wide chest and stopped to study the tattoos.

Beginning in the center of the man’s breastbone was a sort of triskelion spiral that formed the necks of three dragon heads. The beasts looked wrought from metal and nightmare, swirling out from the man's core. One faced collarbone and chin, one stretched southward beneath right armpit and flank, and the third hung upside-down over the left side of the man's body. All three snarled with snaking tongues extended, blind eyes challenging every observer.

Gaara noted all this with a long gaze and likely blank expression. Normally people flinched, shifted, or grew uncomfortable under his assessing stare, but this man didn’t do anything of the sort. He watched the DJ watching him,, a smile playing across his lips, and let Gaara take his fill.

Nice. Interesting and nice, he supposed. Gaara blinked and looked back down at the instrument panel. His fingers brushed the edge of a record not currently in use, and he could feel the weight of the man’s gaze still on him. When Gaara looked back up, the man caught his eyes again, smiling now with a flash of white teeth.

Frowning, Gaara looked away and turned to sort through a stack of vinyl. He tried to place the tattooed man and finally managed to remember that he was Naruto’s friend – Keza? Keava? Something like that. Gaara’d never been introduced, but Naruto spoke of his friend often and he’d seen both men drinking and laughing at Bliss, Break, and Glow. The man was a dom, if Gaara remembered correctly, with a reputation for being heavy-handed.

Identity mystery solved, Gaara pushed the information out of his thoughts and focused on making sure the lighting and music were set up properly. He started packing things away and storing them for the night, the tasks soothing in their pattern.

When Gaara next looked up, Itachi, Neji, and Naruto’s friend – Kiba, his name was Kiba – were standing and talking. Kiba laughed at something Neji said, and Gaara watched Itachi put his arms behind his back and give Kiba a small smile. Itachi's gaze went floorward, and Gaara’s eyebrows went up in mild interest. It was a very submissive posture, and one not lost on Kiba. Neji seemed pleased and stepped back with a sly look at Kiba, who didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were on Itachi, now, and Gaara recognized the focused gaze of a dominant easily enough.

Kiba slowly reached out with one arm and fingered the hem of Itachi’s shirt, mouth moving as he spoke to the other man. Gaara’s gaze became transfixed on Kiba’s fingers: long, blunt-nailed, well-formed. They were the fingers of a guitarist: big enough to reach the chords and dexterous enough to move through the notes quickly. Gaara watched the fingers play with the white hem of the shirt, seeming without point. Kiba stepped closer, and Itachi’s gaze stayed down the entire time. A small smile played on Itachi's lips, now, and Gaara noted somewhat distantly that Itachi was taller than Kiba.

Gaara started to look away, but two things happened at once: Kiba quite suddenly ripped fabric and buttons with a show of violence, and his eyes sought out and met Gaara’s. Kiba grinned when he found Gaara watching, and he brought up a hand to cup the back of Itachi’s head as the taller man leaned forward, forehead resting on Kiba’s shoulder.

Now Gaara did look away, somewhat uncomfortable and not really knowing why. He’d watched his fair share of shows – even participated in a few of them. He’d seen people fuck in all manner of ways, and sex on display didn’t bother him.

But this felt…personal. Gaara didn’t particularly like that sensation, but it intrigued him that he felt it. It reminded Gaara of holding his bare palm over a candle’s flame: mesmerizing and surprisingly hot. Gaara played with the stilled turntable again, and bit his cheek when he looked up again almost against his will.

Kiba was once again in the chair, and Itachi knelt on the ground between Kiba’s knees, pale hands resting on the corduroy-covered thighs. Kiba’s face was buried in Itachi’s dark hair, lips near his ear and mouth moving as he kissed or spoke or both. Itachi's head fell to one side, and Gaara watched Kiba say something that made Itachi shiver, fingers clenching on Kiba’s legs. He would swear later that he heard the kneeling man moan, but the music was far too loud.

Kiba and Itachi’s games drew a small crowd, Neji among them. The watchers drew closer by hesitant footsteps, eyes eager and arms crossed as though to keep themselves from touching. It wasn’t the most graphic display by any means, but this was the VIP on his knees after a night of not interacting much at all. And Kiba, apparently, was good for a show: his presence was almost magnetic in its charisma, and Gaara wondered with clinical detachment why he hadn’t noticed this man before tonight.

One of Kiba’s hands came up to grip Itachi’s hair and pull his head further to the side. Itachi didn’t fight the movement, body bending gracefully. Kiba sank teeth into the flesh near Itachi’s collarbone and then licked a purposeful line from that point up to the kneeling man’s ear.

Before Itachi could recover or move or do anything that Gaara could observe, Kiba yanked backward on Itachi's long hair. Kiba’s body bent forward, and he gently kissed the front of Itachi’s neck before turning his head to the side and biting. His mouth covered Itachi’s trachea, and his teeth scraped up and down in such a clear show of dominance that Gaara swallowed in something like sympathy.

Bystanders found chairs and the subs sat on the floor – Kimimaro among them – eyes on the last show of the night. For his part, Gaara queued up a slightly faster-tempo song to mix and meld with the current one before diving down into the softer tones that heralded the end of the night. The movement forced him to look away, but he looked back over at the pair just in time to see Itachi kneel forward and kiss the top of Kiba’s boot. The seated man chuckled, the movement making his abdominal muscles contract. Gaara’s gaze moved up Kiba’s reclining form and saw that once again, Kiba’s eyes were on Gaara – not the beautiful man pressing his lips to Kiba’s shin.

Gaara tilted his head slightly to one side, questioning, and Kiba winked at him. His head rested on the back of the leather chair, and Itachi’s hands moved to Kiba’s belt. Gaara didn’t blink or turn away as Itachi undid buckle and fly and worked Kiba’s length out of the pants. Itachi's body blocked Gaara’s view of the specific actions, but he got the gist. Kiba lifted a hip and said something, eyes still on Gaara’s. Itachi removed a condom from Kiba’s pocket and tore it open. Again, Gaara couldn’t see, but he followed the minute movements of Itachi’s body as he got the latex over skin.

Ready to look away from the odd man and rather mundane scene, Gaara’s attention was again grabbed when Kiba looked away from the DJ, grabbed Itachi’s hair in a firm grip, and started to speak. The onlookers moved even closer almost en masse, and Neji gestured to Gaara with a twist of elegant hand. Gaara reached for the master volume and turned the music down immediately.

Yet still Gaara couldn’t hear anything. His headphones rested around his neck, forgotten, and instead of hearing with his ears he read Kiba’s lips.

_Tell you…suck me…_

Gaara understood immediately: Kiba would direct and Itachi would obey. Kiba pulled Itachi’s head and upper body to one side, and Gaara’s brow rose in appreciation of Kiba’s size. And then he could only imagine how graphic and heated the commands were as Itachi’s tongue slid out of his mouth to carefully lick the side of Kiba’s shaft. Itachi's eyes were mostly closed, his body relaxed and moving easily as Kiba’s hand guided his head. The crowd shifted, and one sub crawled closer until her lead stopped her movement.

Itachi’s tongue and lips moved and danced as Kiba told him what to do, when to do it, and for how long. Gaara could only read some of the words from Kiba’s lips –

_…harder…lick…fuck…stop…_

\- but it was enough. And yet it wasn’t. Gaara was curious and fascinated and his gaze stayed transfixed along with the rest of the room as Kiba worked Itachi working Kiba. Again, it wasn’t the most graphic display: but there was something about the way Kiba’s body stayed relaxed even as his hand gripped hair in a harsh hold. Something about the way Itachi gave into that touch and the words coming from Kiba’s mouth without pause or hesitation.

It made Gaara want to fuck, and he wasn’t even sure why. Watching things like this was normal at Break – expected, encouraged.

But when Kiba glanced up at Gaara and found him watching, it was as though Kiba gave Gaara – not the room at large – permission to watch with a lazy come-hither smile. Like this was a private show for Gaara, alone.

Fascinating…and somewhat troubling.

And then in a move that made Gaara’s teeth clack shut, Kiba yanked Itachi away from his lap and up his body. Itachi scrambled onto one foot else his hair be removed from his head, and Gaara heard his angry cry over the music and distance.

“Enough. Ya gotta earn the rest.”

Kiba’s deep, clipped, voice rang out clearly in the room, and Gaara saw Itachi’s lungs expand rapidly as his body was held at an awkward angle.

“Ya want more, bitch?” Kiba asked calmly.

Itachi must have replied with the affirmative because Kiba released Itachi’s hair and shifted forward in the chair. He tucked himself back into his pants, leaving them undone. Kiba’s hands came up and guided Itachi’s body sideways, Kiba’s legs going wider to accommodate the positioning. Kiba pushed Itachi against the inside of his right leg, back to the onlookers. Itachi’s chest rested against Kiba’s inner thigh and Kiba bent to speak to Itachi for a second.

And whatever he said made the proud Uchiha moan loudly and bend forward over Kiba’s thigh, hands coming up to grip the arm of the chair.

“Take ‘em down, slut. I ain’t doin’ it for ya.”

The words were loud, rough, and low and Itachi immediately released the arm of the chair to undo his pants. His head stayed bowed, and Gaara could see him breathing through the thin fabric of his ruined shirt.

Kiba said something else, and Itachi nodded. He pushed the pants down to just below his ass – pale, smooth, round – and then resumed his position against and slightly over Kiba’s leg. His hands gripped the arm of the chair and his forehead came down on top of his hands.

“Turn yer head toward the DJ,” Kiba said, and his eyes met Gaara’s for a second and he flashed an evil grin.

 _Now we’ll have some fun,_ the grin said. Gaara stared, slightly bewildered, as Itachi obeyed the command, and Kiba gently pulled dark hair away from Itachi’s face.

“Everybody gotta good view?” Kiba asked conversationally, turning to look at the crowd.

“Yeah,” somebody called.

“Got an eyeful of Uchiha cock-slut ass, do ya?”

“Yeah,” the same somebody called, voice a little rougher.

“Oh good,” Kiba said with a smile. He straightened his left leg to get it out of the way and brought his hand down to meet Itachi’s skin. Gaara’s eyes focused on the swing and the cup of Kiba’s hand as he delivered an expert spank to Itachi’s left cheek. And it was no warm-up swing, either. Itachi jerked, eyes opening and unfocused, and somebody in the crowd laughed.

Kiba’s other hand came up to grip the back of Itachi’s neck, bracing and confining at the same time. Gaara counted nine strikes, and they were harsh and had Itachi’s ass blooming a pretty red.

“I’ve got a great paddle you could use,” someone said. Gaara couldn’t seem to make himself look away from Itachi’s panting form to see who spoke.

“Nah,” Kiba said with a shake of his head. “This bitch is so soft, my hand’ll do just fine, thanks.” Itachi made a noise, and Kiba’s hand flexed on the back of Itachi's neck. He bent, spoke, and then sat up with a sneer.

The strikes resumed, and Gaara watched, fascinated by Kiba’s face and body language. His arm moved with relentless force – Itachi started crying out on swing seventeen – but the rest of him looked completely at ease. His face wasn’t set into hard lines of concentration – quite the opposite. He smiled easily and almost kindly; like he was having a great time doing something totally ordinary and physically undemanding. Cooking a nice meal, for example.

Gaara shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible. He set aside questions for now and focused on the curious show.

Itachi’s cries were broken off as he tried to hold them back, and Gaara silently counted his way to thirty before Kiba stopped. He wrung out his hand and then gave Itachi’s behind a playful swat that made Itachi yelp more than the strikes.

“Nice,” Kiba said, leaning back in the chair. “Now finish what ya started, bitch. That red ass of yours turns me the fuck on.” He laughed and looked up at Gaara with a wink that said, _Damn fun, don’t you think?_

Gaara just stared.

Itachi moved with grace as he shifted on his knees. He reached down to do something – pull up his pants, who knows – and Kiba’s hand reached forward and lightly smacked Itachi’s face. He said nothing, just looked at Itachi.

 _Now, now_ , said the look. _There will be none of that you bad boy._

The gleam in Kiba’s eyes made Gaara’s shoulders jerk in a shiver – it was such an odd combination of casual control with a hint of impenetrable will beneath it. Almost as if Kiba dared Itachi to try it again – because Kiba would fucking love it if he did.

Itachi, however, merely bent forward and went to work, body blocking most of what he did. But Itachi’s entire form seemed absorbed in a telling bob and bend, red ass bare to the room, and Gaara sucked on the inside of his cheek. Kiba’s arms came up behind his head again, fingers laced. He watched Itachi for a second, calm and detached. Then he looked up, met Gaara’s gaze, and his mouth split into a lazy smirk.

Intellectually, Gaara knew that only a few minutes passed. But emotionally it felt like an eternity. Kiba’s eyes never wavered from Gaara’s. He blinked slowly and his eyelids closed to half-mast as he got closer to the edge, but the intensity never receded. Gaara found he couldn’t meet that stare; he switched from watching Itachi’s head to looking at Kiba’s jaw line. He saw Kiba’s throat move as he swallowed, saw his lips part when he got close, and then saw his teeth clench when he got off. It was one of the only visible signs: Kiba’s hips twitched up slightly and then he sighed. That was it.

“Nice,” Kiba said again, voice perfectly calm. He slid off the condom, tied it with a practiced movement of fingers, and put it in the discrete waste bin under the table next to the chair. Then he did up his pants and gave Itachi a smile. “Thanks for playin’.”

Itachi’s whine sounded equal parts indignant and needy, but nobody made a sound.

“Oh, what? You want somethin’?”

Itachi spoke softly with his head down.

“What? Can’t hear ya, sorry…” Kiba frowned and leaned forward in the chair. The act should have looked comically overdone, but instead it appeared menacing.

“…like to come,” was all Gaara could hear – the voice restrained and careful.

“That wasn’t part of the bargain,” Kiba said, and his fingers drummed on the arm of the chair. “My cock not enough for ya?”

Itachi must have wisely stayed silent. Kiba’s voice and body were totally controlled: a coiled spring.

For several long seconds, it was quiet except for the low notes of slow music. Then Kiba sighed.

“Oh fer fuck’s sake…needy bitches. Jesus. Okay, okay…turn around.”

Itachi shifted on his knees to face away from the chair, and Kiba sat forward.

“Spread your legs,” Kiba ordered. Itachi made a face – discomfort from the look of it – but then did as he was told, knees going wide.

Then Kiba startled Gaara – and Itachi, if the soft cry was any indication – by grabbing Itachi under the arms and pulling him up and back. Kiba slid his knees under Itachi’s arms and put his feet on the floor, hooking them over and in front of Itachi’s legs. He pulled Itachi back again, spreading his thighs wider with his feet. Itachi’s inner thighs were now braced against Kiba’s ankles, and Kiba kept his hands on Itachi’s shoulders, one kneading the skin. Itachi’s loose pants strained but accommodated the position. It exposed, braced, and pinned all at the same time, and Gaara made a small, unheard noise of appreciation. Clever.

Itachi, however, winced as his muscles strained and his face flushed. Kiba pet his hair and rubbed his shoulder. Kiba shifted again and produced another condom from his pocket.

“Can’t have ya spurting all over the boss man’s carpet, now can we?” Kiba laughed.

Itachi blinked and Gaara watched Kiba tear the package with his teeth before bending. Itachi’s height made it easy for Kiba to whisper in Itachi's ear as his arm reached down Itachi’s body. Kiba spoke and worked Itachi free of his pants, and Gaara blinked rapidly when Itachi’s lips parted and his eyes closed.

Kiba carefully rolled latex over Itachi’s length, but Gaara didn’t bother to watch. Instead, he gripped the edge of the console in an effort to stop himself from walking out of his booth to get closer. He couldn’t hear what Kiba said, and with Kiba whispering in Itachi’s ear, Gaara couldn’t read his lips.

But whatever Kiba said made Itachi’s head fall back, his hand wrap around his own length, and made Itachi moan with eyes squeezed tightly shut. Gaara watched Kiba’s hand move again into Itachi’s dark hair, pull his head back. The crowd stirred as they watched Kiba’s other hand come up to caress and then gently close over Itachi’s throat – just a gentle grip, nothing more. But the threat was there – and his words must have matched it because Itachi started to beg.

Itachi's words were an incoherent mess full of pleading and cursing and shuddering breaths. And Kiba’s hand held him steady and his lips never stopped moving next to Itachi’s ear. Gaara vaguely saw Neji shiver, saw Kimimaro turn his head into his temporary dom’s thigh, saw wet lips and heated eyes.

It shouldn’t have been so fucking hypnotic. It shouldn’t have been so intensely erotic.

Gaara was hard even before Kiba turned his head and met Gaara’s gaze with a look that seared and scorched. It was playful, greedy, cocky, and daring, that look. It made Gaara’s breath catch, and he heard Kiba’s final command – spoken louder for the benefit of bystander:

“Come for me, already, bitch. I don’t have all night.”

A choked scream went through the club a few seconds and harsh strokes later, but to Gaara it sounded muffled. Because he was drowning in that gaze, he was waylaid by that grin, and he was confounded by why any of it was happening or why he felt heat pull at his groin with the hard thud of blood and pulse.

Kiba let Itachi go limp and for a second he cradled the man, hand petting dark hair. Then he squeezed Itachi’s shoulder, swung his legs back over and away from Itachi’s thighs, and stood up to stretch.

“Nice,” Kiba said again. He put his back to Gaara and reached down with two fingers to touch Itachi’s cheek. The kneeling man leaned and rested his head against Kiba’s leg, his pale chest rising and falling under the ripped shirt. Neji came forward – composure restored – and smiled. Applause went up from the voyeurs, and Kiba chuckled and shook his head.

“Tattoos,” Gaara whispered to himself, looking intently at the design that played up and down Kiba’s spine and broad back. Dark, wicked lines swept up along the contours of his shoulderblades and met his backbone, where piercing art mimicking bone linked by blades pointed down over the vertebrae. They ran from neck to below the waist of Kiba’s pants, and for a crazy second Gaara could only think that it must have hurt like a son of a bitch.

He licked his lips.

And then he quickly turned to put the music on a timer. In ten minutes, it would fade away completely, but Gaara planned to be gone before that happened. He quite suddenly wanted to be anywhere but this club.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Ah yes… The chapter in which Kiba takes his attempts to get Red's attention up a notch. And employs a team to help him. :P (If you think anything happens in Break without several layers of planning… Perhaps you should think again. :D)
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Sex Type Thing - Stone Temple Pilots](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uRnzrUOl5g). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> I am I am I am I said I wanna get next to you  
> I said I wanna get close to you  
> You wouldn't want me have to hurt you too, hurt you too?  
> I ain't I ain't I ain't a buyin' into your apathy  
> I'm gonna learn ya my philosophy  
> You wanna know about atrocity, atrocity?  
> I know you want what's on my mind  
> I know you like what's on my mind  
> I know it eats you up inside  
> I know you know, you know, you know
> 
> ∞ Let's remember: GAARA IS A SOCIOPATH AT BEST AND A PSYCHOPATH AT WORST - he is unbalanced, violent, and dangerous. Kiba is crazy in that, "Why CAN'T we get naked, slather ourselves with honey and bait, and feed the rabid Tasmanian devils?" kind of way. It will take a LOT for Gaara to pay attention to Kiba, and it'll take a special kind of skillset to get his attention in the first place.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


	8. Chapter 8

Shrugging into his leather jacket, Gaara looked up and was grateful to see Kiba’s back was still to him. Itachi sat in the leather chair, looking suitably content. Neji had one hand on Kiba’s shoulder and was talking to Itachi in his gracious manner about another visit.

Gaara stepped down out of his booth, walked back behind the bar, and went out the gate on the far side. One of the twins nodded at him as he left, but he didn’t bother to respond. The doors out to the Catacombs were open, but when he crossed the hallway, Gaara saw the doors to the stairs were locked.

“Fuck,” he said softly and without much venom. Fumbling for the cigarette case was a pleasant distraction from trying to figure out what, exactly, was wrong. The longer he could put off that bit of business the better.

Case located and doors unlocked, Gaara quick-stepped up the stairs to the tomb. He clenched his teeth against the chill and pushed through the final set of doors to the outside.

“Good night, sir,” one of the guards said, but Gaara just shrugged deeper into his coat and shoved his hands into his pockets. The entire night was mostly incomprehensible to Gaara. He didn’t know Kiba. He didn’t understand why Kiba felt the need to include him in his show with Itachi. And he definitely didn’t know why said inclusion bothered him so much.

Blowing out a puff of air, Gaara thought perhaps it had to do with all the earlier thoughts on arousal and life and choices. It’d been a long time since something at the club got him worked up; and he was none too happy that it took some cocky bastard with a couple of neat tricks to do it. He resented Kiba for pulling him into that damned game without warning or permission, and he was pissed at himself for responding even a little. That meant that Kiba had won a bit of control, and the thought made Gaara want to stab something repeatedly with the knife in his boot.

“Sir?” said a voice.

Gaara jumped and realized with a growling curse that he was still standing outside the tomb entrance, shivering.

“Nothing,” he grumbled and started off toward the parking lot like an angry thundercloud.

_Idiot. Fool._

Best to forget about it, get home, go to bed. For once he felt like sleep wasn’t mere surrender but might offer solace, and he got a firm grip on himself as he walked. The last thing he needed was some latent overload moment thanks to some asshole dom.

Honestly.

Gaara rolled his eyes, and his boots hit asphalt with a gritty crunch. He was halfway to his car when he heard footsteps.

“Hey!” A familiar voice called behind Gaara, making his shoulders come up and try to meet his ears. Gaara scowled and kept walking, hoping it would just go away.

“Wait up!” The voice said, breathy and closer, now. Gaara turned and saw Kiba trotting up to him. Gaara didn’t pause; he couldn’t imagine what the man wanted. He surreptitiously checked to make sure he had his wallet and keys. Sure enough – they were both in his pockets in their usual places.

And if this guy wasn’t here to hand over some of Gaara’s property, then Gaara had exactly no use for him. What the hell did he want, some rundown of the fucking scene? To have a nice chat about how good he was back there? Gaara sneered at the thought and kept his gaze ahead and on his car.

“Damn you’re quick,” Kiba said, shoving his leather-gloved hands into the pockets of his long coat. “Didn’t think I would catch ya.”

“Why were you trying?” Gaara muttered, still walking and slightly irked that Kiba’s stride was longer than his own.

“T’say thanks for watchin’,” Kiba said with a grin down at Gaara. The expression reminded him of earlier grins, and Gaara’s mouth set in a hard line.

“You were right in front of my booth,” Gaara replied, pausing and turning his head to level a blank stare at the taller man.

“Oh,” Kiba said. “And here I thought you were just returnin’ the favor.”

“What?” Gaara asked, irritably.

“The other night,” Kiba said, head tilting and eyes searching. “I watched you up at Bliss. Now, don’t break my heart and tell me ya don’t remember.” Kiba grinned.

Gaara’s eyes widened a fraction as the memory surfaced. Kiba didn’t wear the face paint tonight, and Gaara’d been so distracted by the tattoos and the scene that he didn’t connect the man from Bliss with Kiba until now.

And the realization that it was all the same man - watcher at Bliss, Naruto’s friend, heavy-handed regular dom at Break – made Gaara even more uncomfortable.

Grunting and resuming his stride, Gaara wrapped his arms around himself. “Wasn’t returning favors. Didn’t have a choice but to watch – you were in my damned face.”

Kiba chuckled. “Oh come on: ya make it sound like ya didn’t enjoy it. And I know that ain’t true.”

Gaara didn’t reply, but he channeled the volumes of his irritation into his expression. Just who the fuck did this guy think he was anyway?

“Ya work in a BDSM club and ya don’t like watchin’ people play?” Kiba asked, disbelief clear in his voice.

“I didn’t say that.”

“So ya did like it.”

“Didn’t say that, either.” Gaara walked faster, but Kiba matched his pace easily.

“Ya know, yer right: ya do seem reluctant t’chat.”

“You noticed.”

“I’m pretty observant.”

“Then why are you still talking to me?” Gaara bit out, exasperated. He reached the car and whirled to face the taller man. Gaara didn’t understand why Kiba was bothering him like this, and he didn’t care to find out. The whole situation made warning bells ring with deafening clarity in Gaara’s mind, and he gritted his teeth.

Kiba was apparently a regular at the clubs. Gaara definitely didn’t want to spend the next few weeks leery of work because this man would pester him. So he needed to bring this ass up short and shut down any ideas the fucker might have about Gaara.

However, getting on the bad side of one of the regular dom customers – especially one so close to Naruto – could cause problems for Gaara. The owners allowed him quite a lot of leeway already: Gaara may not understand the full spectrum of human emotion, but he did understand that he was not easy to manage.

All of which, of course, meant that Gaara couldn’t threaten to kill Kiba.

That was truly unfortunate.

“’cause I want t’get to know you,” Kiba answered, looking at Gaara seriously and making him feel entirely too…examined.

“No,” Gaara said, thinking he needed this man away from him immediately. “Fuck off.”

Kiba laughed. “So ya do have teeth.” He grinned, showing off pointed canines. Those had to be cosmetically enhanced. “I like a good bite, myself.”

Gaara yanked his keys out of his pocket with a deep frown. “Not interested,” he muttered as he unlocked the car door.

“Let me get that for ya,” Kiba said and reached for the door handle.

Gaara’s eyes widened, and he saw red. Acting before he really thought about it, he grabbed Kiba’s hand, slammed it against the side of the car, and then shoved Kiba back with Kiba's wrist bent downward at a painful angle that would hurt but not break. It only worked because Kiba hadn't suspected it was coming and because Gaara’d spent a lifetime attacking quickly and painfully to get the hell away from threat.

But truth be told, the violence startled Gaara just as much as it did Kiba. He must be more agitated than he thought.

Kiba stumbled backward with a surprised noise and clutched at his wrist. Gaara got the car door open and between them. “You don’t touch my car and you don’t touch me,” Gaara said coldly. “Now. Fuck. Off.”

The delighted laugh shocked Gaara enough to make him stop in his act of getting into Beast and burning rubber out of the parking lot. Kiba slung one well-muscled arm in between the car body and the door, effectively making it difficult to shut the door without causing the asshole serious injury.

“Get away from my goddamned-" Gaara started to shout.

“I know you liked it,” Kiba said – shockingly loud and clear in the quiet night air. He smiled kindly at Gaara, which threw Gaara completely off guard. He blinked at Kiba, not understanding his actions. Most people tended to get pissed after Gaara attacked them; not look at him like he was some sort of adorable misbehaving kitten.

“The show, I mean – what I did in there tonight. I been ‘round all kinds of people and places and scenes, sweetheart, and I know when someone likes what I do and when they don’t. What I can’t figure out is if ya wanted to be me or the other guy.” Kiba studied Gaara intently, and in the light from the safety lamp above them, Gaara saw that Kiba’s eyes were actually extraordinarily pale. So pale they made the pupils stand out in sharp contrast and gave Kiba an unearthly appearance. It was…distracting.

“I never want to be anything but myself,” Gaara said and then frowned. The words shocked him – he wanted to punch this man or break a bone or two, not share feelings like they were in fucking group therapy.

Kiba smiled again and leaned closer. He was an extremely attractive man, Gaara couldn’t help observing. And the observation made him angrier.

“Now there ya go,” Kiba said, air escaping his mouth in white tendrils. “That’s interestin’ and honest. I like you honest.”

Gaara scowled. He pushed the door painfully against Kiba’s intruding arm, making the man wince. But Kiba didn’t – Gaara noticed – break eye contact or try to get away.

“Honesty?” Gaara said. “I can do honest.” He leaned in and bared his teeth in a snarl at Kiba. “I want nothing to do with you or your games. I don’t know what you think you were doing in there, but don’t ever fucking do it again. I’m not some damned sub in need of your goddamned praise, and I’m not interested in you, your shows, or your opinions. Come near me again and I’ll cut your fucking balls off and go to jail laughing about the look on your face.”

“I’d like t’see ya laugh,” Kiba said quickly, gaze still riveted on Gaara’s face. “I bet yer beautiful when ya laugh.”

Gaara made a beleaguered, bewildered noise and gaped at Kiba. It was as though the idiot completely missed the threat – or liked it, one. Gaara released the door and stepped back like Kiba’d thrown a punch. “Stay away from me.”

Kiba removed his arm and smiled in a way that Gaara didn’t like and that made butterflies stir his insides. He couldn’t remember feeling more uncomfortable, and all he wanted was out of there.

“Okay,” Kiba said softly. “For now.”

Gaara didn’t bother to argue the point. He slid into the car and slammed the door. The engine cranked to life, and Beast roared out of the space as if the car echoed Gaara’s rage and confusion.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Kiba is a man who knows what he wants. And let's remember: GAARA IS A SOCIOPATH AT BEST AND A PSYCHOPATH AT WORST - he is unbalanced, violent, and dangerous. Though he's trying to be an upstanding member of society. Ish. Kiba is crazy in that, "Why CAN'T we get naked, slather ourselves with honey and bait, and feed the rabid Tasmanian devils?" kind of way. It will take a LOT for Gaara to pay attention to Kiba, and it'll take a special kind of skillset to get his attention in the first place.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Slept So Long - Jay Gordon of Orgy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gq42eCTOJU). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> Walking, waiting  
> Alone without a care  
> Hoping, and hating  
> Things that I can't bear  
> Did you think it's cool to walk right up  
> To take my life and fuck it up  
> Well did you?  
> Well did you?  
> I see hell in your eyes  
> Taken in by surprise (surprise)  
> Touching you makes me feel alive  
> Touching you makes me die inside
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


	9. Chapter 9

Time, Gaara thought as he sat at the counter of Akasuna Auto, did very few good things. It went slowly in times of turmoil and flew in times of fun, (Gaara struggled to remember his last “fun” moment, but that was beside the point). Aging was rarely good. And eventually with enough time, everything died – also not usually a desirable sort of thing.

In theory, time healed wounds or made pain lessen. That, Gaara supposed, was true in some cases in his life. Broken bones mended, wounds faded into scars, tattoos stopped itching and smoothed out.

But the truly damaging wounds – death, betrayal, utter and irrevocable loss – didn’t lessen in time. No, those wounds merely submerged and hid away until they were called forth by some mundane, innocent thing that brought back the pain and suffering like a swift kick to the solar plexus.

That was the sort of truism that Gaara knew from many, many personal experiences.

So, time did not heal all things, this much Gaara understood from an early age, but more importantly right now – it didn’t lessen the razor’s edge of need, curiosity, or desire.

Take for example a couple who’d ended things long ago and went separate ways. Years and years later those same two people could be thrown into a room together and discover that time didn’t actually lesson a damned thing. One look, one touch, or one innocent word and the want for that other person was roaring back into the present despite the mythical powers of time or the willful suppression of urges.

And Gaara thought a lot about that hypothetical couple and the urban legends associated with time as he struggled to get the fucking Inuzuka off his mind. It should be easy and it wasn’t. It shouldn’t bother him so much and it did.

Granted, it’d only been a day and a half since Gaara’d seen Kiba at Break; not really long enough to let time do anything but tick by in carefully measured increments.

But that didn’t stop Gaara from thinking that Father Time could suck it.

“Shipment comin’ in, boss,” Jody said as he walked into the reception area holding a clipboard. “Gonna unload back at the dock. I can go…” Jody looked up and trailed off, observing Gaara with a small frown.

Gaara grunted from his perch at the large, curving, dark red counter that was the first thing people saw upon entering the shop. There were two clusters of chairs and tables that served as a waiting area for customers who needed estimates or quick repairs. Against the wall near the chairs was a table supporting a rather nice coffee maker, cups, and condiments.

Next to the waiting area were two shelving units that held various high-end products for cars – cleaning supplies, mostly. The wall behind the shelves was composed of waist-high windows that looked out over the service bays. The windows wrapped around to the front of the store and the main doors.

Gaara and Jody had offices and a private bathroom through a door to Jody’s right – catty-corner to the double doors that opened onto the service area. The shop had three bays, and it was outfitted to do everything from oil changes to full engine reconstruction and body work. Behind the bays were the customer bathrooms, a storage area for small parts, and a warehouse area where they kept larger stock. The dock was off the larger store room, and there were doors off that room and the main service area that led out onto a nicely fenced-and-covered lot. They kept the cars in queue for repairs and the cars that were finished there, safely protected by a digital security lock. And only Gaara and Jody had the code.

“Uh, boss?”

“What?” Gaara asked somewhat irritably as he continued to stare holes in the counter. His hands were folded and resting on the durable laminate, the knuckles whiter than the rest of his hands.

Jody crossed to the counter and leaned against it. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong or make me guess?”

Gaara looked up and met Jody’s sincere green-brown gaze. “Neither,” he replied. “Shipment. Good. Thanks.”

“I can put Guren on it,” Jody said, referring to their only female employee. She could certainly hold her own, however, among volatile Gaara, protective Jody, young Ranmaru, and fiery Sora. Sometimes she even rivaled Gaara for general hatred for humanity, but she was damned good with body work.

“Why would you do that?” Gaara asked.

“So you could talk to me. You been acting funny for a couple days now, boss.” Jody’s drawl was low and soothing, and Gaara sighed.

“Not…sleeping,” Gaara replied. It was both the truth and the easiest excuse he could give. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to rely on Jody – more that he didn’t really understand what was wrong, himself, so explaining the problem wasn’t an option.

Jody nodded, eyes still intent. “You wanna get out for a while? We got enough staff to support and run everything, boss. Well-oiled machine this is…Go on back to the house and catch a little shuteye.”

Gaara unlaced his fingers and bit at one knuckle, not noticing when Jody’s expression softened at the old gesture. Gaara chewed absently for a second or two, not understanding that he was broadcasting all sorts of things to his old friend.

“Fine,” Gaara said eventually and climbed off the chair. A shower and some rest didn’t sound all that bad, really. Better than sitting at the counter and thinking about ways to murder an inanimate human construct. “Killing time” suddenly took on a new meaning for Gaara.

“I’ll take care of everything, boss. You just go getcha some rest.”

Gaara absently waved two fingers at Jody and went into the back of the building to grab his bag. His office was the larger of the two, but it was also the most sparsely decorated. Jody’d covered his walls in cars and motorcycle posters – most of them with the gratuitous half-naked woman posed in some provocative manner. Gaara couldn’t quite make the connection between a blonde chick making suck-face motions at a muffler with street cars, but then, he didn’t understand most things that involved women.

“See you for dinner, boss?” Jody asked when Gaara returned on his way out.

Gaara shrugged. Thoughts of a tattooed man with a wicked grin holding a massive clock in one hand were blocking out other mundane things like how he was going to feed himself.

“’k. See you later, then,” Jody said.

“Right,” Gaara replied and left. Beast was parked on the side of the building even though it was only about a mile to Gaara’s house. Like hell if he was walking in this cold weather when he could drive. Gas and the environment could burn for all Gaara cared.

Contemplating the irony of that mental image, Gaara climbed into Beast and made his way home. He rather liked his house in all its oddities. It was done in a modern, Mediterranean style with three bedrooms, a cultured courtyard garden, plunge pool, and lanai off the master suite that overlooked the courtyard. All the bedrooms were on the first floor – surrounding the courtyard. One had to walk up the stairs in the entryway to reach the living room, kitchen, and study. In the initial plans an intern at the Asashi Firm drew up for him, there were more doors into the house and no gate around the property.

Gaara subtracted ways into the house and added a twelve-foot privacy fence even though he lived in the middle of his own land with no neighbors for two miles. He also added an eight-car garage with security features that would make the Pentagon whistle in appreciation.

Paranoia served Gaara well and it was something he took very seriously.

There was a two-car garage at an angle to the house, and that’s where Gaara kept Beast and an assortment of motorcycles under weather covers. The house and the gate were also encoded on an alarm system. Naturally.

Parking and getting out of Beast with a soft sigh and a light pat to the car’s hood, Gaara made his way from the garage to the covered path enclosed by the fence that led to the house. He maintained the plants and flowers in the garden himself in spring and summer, but now most of them were dormant. The pool, however, was heated, uncovered, and lit by blue-green lights at the bottom. There was a hot tub built into the plunge pool, and its overflow ran into the deep water. The pool was lined in black granite, which made for a very surreal and eerie effect at night with the lights.

Gaara loved it. And often went swimming in the nude at three in the morning just to feel the water on his body and watch his skin glow against the dark stone.

Inside the front door, Gaara toed off his shoes and disarmed the security system. He shrugged out of his jacket, locked the door back, and felt a familiar pressure against his leg.

“Hi, Cat,” Gaara said to his four-legged housemate. Jody still teased him about never naming the animal properly, to which Gaara always replied: “When he wants me to know his name, he’ll tell me or stop coming when I call, ‘Cat.’”

Cat was a foundling. Someone dumped him out at the shop, and Gaara took one look at the massive, black-and-gray critter and felt a sort of kinship. The cat turned out to be some sort of rare breed that grew rather large – Cat weighed in at 21 pounds. Most of that, Gaara attested, was fur.

But Cat took care of himself, requiring nothing more than food, water, a pan in the laundry room, and a squeaky toy filled with catnip.

Gaara rather liked the giant, self-sustaining, purring furball.

Cat chirped at him and blinked with large, yellow eyes.

“Hungry?” Gaara asked.

Cat blinked once.

Taking that as the, “Yes, obviously,” that it was, Gaara went upstairs to dump a tin of food into Cat’s bowl in the kitchen. With a contented swish of his long, black tail, Cat set about the business of eating and Gaara headed back downstairs to his bedroom. He stripped down in the closet and then went to the bathroom to sit on the tiled bench in the shower and drown himself in scalding hot water. Steam roiled and filled the large, quiet, room, and Gaara tried to focus on the heat on his skin rather than the confusion in his skull.

When his skin was red and bordering on raw, Gaara turned off the faucets and opened the glass door to get his towel.

“Gaara?”

Gaara froze and eyed the drawer in the counter where he kept his Colt.

“It’s Jody.”

Of course it was, Gaara thought with a long breath. No one else had the security codes to get into the house.

Without a word, Gaara wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed another to run over his hair. What the hell Jody was doing here was beyond him, but that was the sort of thing that was easy enough to sort out.

“Hey,” Jody said when Gaara walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The large man leaned against a wall, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his work pants.

“What are you doing here?” Gaara’s question was slightly muffled as he dried his hair and face.

“Worried ‘bout you,” Jody said quietly.

Gaara made a frustrated noise. “Stop it.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jody said. “Haven’t stopped in eleven years, prob’ly not goin’ to now.” He pushed off the wall and stood in the middle of the room. “Everythin’ okay at the club?”

Gaara looked at his friend with a cool gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“’cause you ain’t been right since Sunday, and that was Break,” Jody observed.

Towel around his shoulders, Gaara shifted his weight and didn’t meet Jody’s gaze. “Nothing happened. Just a show.” The first show in years that got Gaara hot. The first show that got him hard since the pills. He thought about the glint in Kiba’s pale eyes as he spanked the immortal fuck out of Itachi, and beneath the towel, Gaara’s dick stirred. It shocked him and made him a little angry.

“Okay, boss,” Jody said quietly. If there was anyone on the earth who was a master at reading every tic and tell Gaara had – and they were few and minute, usually – it was Jody. He knew Gaara was on edge, working something out, and tired. And Gaara knew that Jody understood – which was both comforting and irritating.

“Musta been a helluva show,” Jody said, trying for levity and failing miserably in his ignorance.

With a dark scowl Gaara tore the towels off his shoulders and waist and walked toward his bed. Nudity never really bothered Gaara, and Jody’d seen him in all kinds of disarray over the years. Hard, soft, bleeding, tied up, covered in various this and that…none of what Gaara had would be new to Jody.

“It wasn’t,” Gaara snapped, yanking the red-and-black covers back and sliding under them. The shades were drawn on the bank of windows Gaara now faced, dark shadows falling over the seating area and most of the bedroom. Most of the light came from the half-done blinds on the tall windows overlooking the lanai and garden.

“Sure,” Jody said, voice closer.

“Jody, just go.” Gaara shut his eyes, tired of too many things.

“Boss, I’m just-"

“Jody,” Gaara growled. “I’m fucking fine. I’m taking the goddamned meds. I’m working two jobs. I’m in classes. I’m tired. Leave me the hell alone.” Gaara was immediately guilty that he said such things, but he felt overwrought and anxious and he couldn’t work anything out with Jody standing in his bedroom.

“Hey, now,” Jody said gently. Gaara felt the bed move with Jody’s weight and suppressed the urge to groan. He kept his back to his friend and his eyes closed, hoping this would just resolve itself and Jody would leave reasonably happy and Gaara could just sleep for a while. Forget everything.

“I’m not one of the people sayin’ you should be takin’ anything, boss,” Jody said, deep voice rolling over the vowels and consonants with a slow, meandering, lilt that Gaara still liked, even when pissed. “I got your back – not your damned doctors’. Or your sister’s. I just want you to be as close to happy as you can get, Gaara.”

Shoulders relaxing at the sound of his name coming from Jody’s lips, Gaara sighed. Leave it to Jody to instinctively know the things truly bothering Gaara and the things he said in mere anger. Might as well explain: Jody was stubborn as an ox when he wanted to be.

“Some guy at Break decided to put on a show and make it personal,” Gaara said quietly. “Sort of included me and didn’t ask permission to do it. Pissed me off.” There. That was all truth if not the whole truth.

“Ain’t that kinda rude in that world?” Jody asked. “I mean, I still can’t quite grab heads or tails of that dom/sub stuff, but…”

“Yeah,” Gaara said. “It was rude.”

Jody didn’t say anything for a minute, and Gaara’s mind replayed the anger he felt after the show. It reviewed the parking lot scene – how Kiba didn’t back off or away from Gaara despite threats.

_Bet yer beautiful when ya laugh._

Gaara felt blood rush low and he fisted his pillow, angry at himself for whatever reason. He shifted on the bed and felt Jody shift, too.

“…did you like it?” Jody asked, breaking the silence.

“Like what?”

“The show, boss.”

“…I don’t know.” Gaara was definitely confused on that point. His body liked it, his brain didn’t.

Jody made a humming sound and shifted again on the bed. “How long’s it been, boss?”

Gaara’s eyes opened. “Since what?”

“Since you got some, boss.”

“Oh fuck off,” Gaara grumbled loudly and resisted the urge to throw a pillow at Jody.

“Boss?” Jody’s voice had that determined, stubborn edge that told Gaara he wasn’t about to back down from this one.

“None of your business.” Gaara knew that tactic wouldn’t work, but for fuck’s sake…

“You said it yourself,” Jody pressed on as if he didn’t hear Gaara. “You work, you take those online classes, you spin at the clubs, and you never go out. I know you don’t bring nobody back here.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Gaara asked.

“’cause I pay attention to you, boss. It’s my job. And then you walk ‘round all upset and tell me it’s ‘bout some show at Break. I don’t know much about that lifestyle, boss, but I know what you mean by ‘show.’ And I know you prob’ly liked it.”

Gaara’s heart beat a little faster as he wondered just where in the hell this was going. “Your point?”

“My point…” Jody paused, sighed, and Gaara felt the bed move again. He heard dull sounds on the floor – shoes.

“You remember when we were kids and you’d come back all upset from some god-awful somethin’ the Saints made you do…And we’d curl up on that couch in Leon’s basement?”

Gaara half turned to face Jody and watched as Jody climbed under the covers in his blue work slacks and ancient “Staff” t-shirt. Jody smiled at Gaara and then frowned, thinking. He grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head before tossing it to the side. Gaara blinked at the familiar expanse of broad chest.

“You’d let me hold you,” Jody said calmly, shifting to lay down next to Gaara, face open, honest, and kind. It was a face of miracles as far as Gaara was concerned – so much kindness in someone who’d gone through as much if not more shit than Gaara.

“Yes,” Gaara said softly, remembering and thinking he should say something like, ‘You don’t have to do this,’ or ‘Get away from me before it’s too late.’

Instead, Gaara said nothing, and Jody moved closer. “I could always tell when you were really upset,” Jody said quietly, eyes down. “You’d be all tense like some coiled engine spring. Sometimes you’d try to push me away, and sometimes you’d tell me what you did, but eventually you’d go to sleep with me at your back. Remember?” Jody looked at Gaara and he nodded. Of course he remembered – it was one of the things that kept Gaara from blowing his brains out in those days. Was probably still one of the things that kept him from doing that.

“You gonna fight me this time?” Jody asked, voice even quieter. He reached out and put his hand on Gaara’s stomach, rolling him and pulling him nearer at the same time. Gaara tended to take for granted just how big Jody was under normal circumstances. The man cleared six-foot-five with ease, and his hand spanned Gaara’s abdomen from palm to middle fingertip. Gaara felt dwarfed and safe at the same time, and he said nothing as Jody moved him.

“Thanks, boss,” Jody said, taking Gaara’s silence and lack of resistance as answer enough to Jody’s question. “Never much liked fightin’ you for it.”

Gaara found himself pulled flush to Jody’s warm body, his hand rubbing along Gaara’s arm. Jody’s chest hair tickled Gaara’s face and smelled like body wash and oil. It was effective in making Gaara forget everything else in that moment but Jody’s hand on his skin, which made him nervous and calmer at the same time. Jody was familiar – being near him like this in bed was even familiar. But it’d been a long time, Jody was straight, and Gaara…was bloody complicated.

“You remember what else we’d do sometimes on that couch?” Jody whispered.

Gaara pulled away and looked Jody square in the eye. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “Young. And stupid.”

Jody shrugged, propping himself up on one elbow. “Not so stupid, boss. That kinda thing’s important. They did this study about apes or some shit that said if they didn’t get touched and loved and whatever then they died.”

Gaara’s lips twitched. “Those were baby chimpanzees, Jody – they were studying the connection between mother and child.”

“Well, whatever,” Jody said and his hand rested on Gaara’s hip, palm over the bone. “Point is, you go an awfully long time in between affection, boss.”

“And you think you’re the one who should provide this to me?” Gaara couldn’t quite believe the words as he spoke them.

“Well…” Jody frowned and his fingers dug into Gaara’s skin. It was distracting and pleasant and confusing.

“I think I can do this for you, yeah,” Jody whispered, sounding almost shy. “It’s like part of what I do. Make sure you take care of yourself and get your back. Even when you don’t know what’s behind you.”

“Jody-"

“You don’t trust people, and I get that, boss,” Jody pushed on. “But I know you trust me.”

“You’re straight.” Gaara couldn’t help but point out this little fact as apparently it escaped Jody’s attention.

“Yep,” Jody agreed with a grin that faded fast. “But this ain’t ‘bout straight or not, boss. This is about _you_. That kinda shit don’t really apply when it’s you.” He rumbled a sigh and lay down, arm sliding under Gaara’s pillow and then Gaara's neck. Gaara’s heart began to pound in earnest and he felt something like the edges of panic. He wasn’t good with this kind of thing – being physically close to someone he actually cared about was enough to make him feel like his ends were unraveling faster than he could sew his pieces together. He should stop this, he should say something – the right something that would make Jody get away.

“Listen, I got a date with a chick with huge tits on Friday, but right now, I just wanna make sure you get some decent sleep. And hold you a little while I’m at it – ‘cause I think you need it and ‘cause I like doin’ it. That’s it, boss: it’s all I got.” Jody’s voice was soft, and Gaara felt Jody's breath on his cheek. His body tensed when Jody’s hand began to move again, absently petting Gaara’s side and leg in a reassuring sort of way.

“You used to close your eyes,” Jody said after a long moment full of beguiling touch. “And you’d press back against me in this way that told me what you wanted.”

Gaara remembered – and on one occasion, he recalled pushing Jody’s hand down so Jody could work him through his pants. They’d never touched skin in those early years, though later they’d held one another in all states of undress. Gaara slept naked, and sometimes Jody would come in after a long day and crawl into bed with him. Sometimes Gaara would find Jody’s bed after a particularly hard night at Haze: a night when Gaara felt small and lonely and on the verge of something he wanted but couldn’t quite reach.

“And then I’d…” Jody narrated and carefully – Gaara could tell how careful Jody was being with a painful clarity – Jody moved his hand to cup over Gaara. He pressed his fingers down to encourage Gaara to spread his legs, and Gaara couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips. It flew out into the air before his teeth could catch it.

Jody didn’t say a word, and his breath stayed even against Gaara’s cheek. Gaara’s mind whirled and spun. He didn’t really want this – not with the kind of burn that normally came with wanting sex. Gaara’d felt that once or twice at Haze, and this was nothing like that. This was calm, steady, and warm – three things echoed in Jody’s fingers and hand as he took Gaara’s soft length and carefully manipulated skin with a deft touch.

“Jody,” Gaara said, and it came out like a hissing plea. “Shit,” he cursed.

“s’okay, boss,” Jody said. “Just lemme-"

“Meds,” Gaara managed, hating the word so much he could scream. “I don’t even know if…”

“I know,” Jody said quietly. “Know every pill you take, boss – part of my job. Don’t think about it.” Jody’s fingers moved on Gaara’s skin and made him shiver in faint memory of non-lovers’ past.

“Feel good?” Jody asked.

Gaara pressed his lips together and turned his head toward Jody.

“Then think about that show at Break,” Jody suggested softly. “And just…lemme…”

No, no, not that damned show. Not the fucking Inuzuka with his lazy, cock-be-ready grin and smoky growl of a voice. Gaara didn’t want to think about the sound of Kiba’s hand on flesh – barely heard over Gaara’s music. He didn’t want to think about Itachi’s face when he came, or the helpless way he grabbed his cock when Kiba leaned down to whisper…

“Mm, that’s good,” Jody encouraged. He stroked Gaara’s rapidly-hardening length with a steady, long pull, and Gaara bucked into Jody’s hand against his will. Jody made a soft sound and cradled Gaara to him while his hand worked an efficient rhythm along Gaara’s shaft.

Biting his lower lip to keep from making noise – because that would be somehow wrong, wouldn’t it? Making noise for Jody like this was just…But in Gaara’s mind, it wasn’t Jody chasing him down in a parking lot. And in a vision fueled by lust and confusion, Kiba didn’t offer to get Gaara’s door for him when they reached the car. Instead, the Inuzuka grabbed Gaara, pulled him close, and slammed him back against Beast’s hood.

“Fuck,” Gaara gasped. He reached up to push against Jody’s shoulder, and Jody nudged Gaara’s head to the side with his nose. His palm swirled over the head of Gaara’s dick and slicked him up, and Gaara thought about Jody doing this to himself. And then he thought about Kiba: touching himself, tattoos bared to the air. Touching Gaara – growling breath in his ear, and low laugh making Gaara’s toes curl.

Gaara whimpered and pushed harder at Jody’s immoveable shoulder, fingers digging into his skin.

“Everythin’s okay, boss,” Jody whispered. “I’ve got ya…”

_Turn and look at the DJ…_

Gaara shivered.

_Don’t know if you wanna be me or the other guy._

“’sokay, boss…”

Gaara panted as he reached and covered Jody’s mouth with his palm. He didn’t want soothing words; he didn’t want kindness or tender anything. That wasn’t the way Gaara worked, wasn’t what got him…

_Pale eyes turned to glare daggers of heat at Gaara. The face was knowing, fierce, and anything but gentle. Lust sliced through Gaara at the thought, and he heard the words he knew to be true spoken from phantom, smirking lips: “Ya fuckin’ loved the goddamned show – got ya fuckin’ hard and now ya fuckin’ want me, don’t ya?”_

Jody’s breath was hot on Gaara’s hand, but he didn’t move to pull away. The push and slide of flesh was just right, the heat was coiling, the head of his cock tingling and his balls drawing up and tight. A tiny noise of need slipped through Gaara’s lips, and Jody sighed against Gaara’s hand as he worked Gaara’s cock faster.

 _“Fuck.”_ Gaara rolled flat on his back, hand still pressing over Jody’s mouth. The other one fisted the sheet, and Gaara’s neck strained backward as one heel dug into the mattress. Closer…closer…

_“Yeah, bitch…just…like…that…”_

Cruel laughter filled Gaara’s mind, and it was so right and so wrong. Gaara’s eyes squeezed shut, and his hand flexed over Jody’s face. His mind latched onto an image of a lounging, half-naked man staring at Gaara with expectant, scorching intimacy, and Gaara came with a rasp of a cry that sounded both relieved and shocked. And for a long second, Gaara didn’t know if it would end. It’d been ages – too many forevers – and the orgasm rocked his body and mind mercilessly.

Jody’s hand slowed, milking Gaara gently. Eventually Jody let his fingers fall away as he settled on his side, wiping the mess on the sheet. Gaara shivered and withdrew his hand from his friend’s mouth, swallowing. He turned his head to look at Jody, blue eyes wide and searching; asking questions with silence and a tilt of his body.

“We good, boss,” Jody said softly. “I can wait ‘til Friday.”

Gaara looked down and shut his eyes, exhaustion overtaking all else. Jody wiped Gaara off with the edge of the sheet and then somehow ripped the soiled linen away without disturbing the top cover too much. Strong hands turned Gaara onto his side, touch warm and gentle, and Jody covered them both with the blanket.

“I’ll stay ‘til you fall asleep,” Jody said, spooning and cuddling Gaara. Their size differences made Gaara feel diminutive again, and the feeling was comforting.

“Jody-" Gaara whispered.

“Nuh-uh,” Jody sighed, getting comfortable. “You don’t gotta say nothing, boss. Just rest, m’kay?”

Nodding, Gaara relaxed wrapped in weight and warmth, and sleep came on swift feet.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ WHEW… I do really love Jody. And Gaara, oh Gaara… Who loves it rough, ready, and now tinged with the pure white shade of Kiba's canines.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Cold Desert - Kings of Leon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOVd3dL2GLo). I listened to that song on repeat for four hours, imagining this scene over and over until I had it just _so_. All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> I'm on the corner, waiting for a light to come on,  
> That's when I know you're alone  
> It's cold in the desert, water never sees the ground  
> Special unspoken without sound 
> 
> You told me you loved me, that I'd never die alone  
> Hand over your heart, let's go home  
> Everyone noticed, everyone has seen the signs  
> I've always been known to cross lines 
> 
> I've never ever cried when I was feeling down  
> I've always been scared of the sound  
> Jesus don't love me, no one ever carried my load  
> I'm too young to feel this old 
> 
> Is it you, is it me  
> Or does nobody know, nobody see  
> Nobody but me
> 
> ∞ Be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ Fun fact! Jody wasn't supposed to live past the first three chapters. You can thank Azazel999 for his survival.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


	10. Chapter 10

“And it’s a 1923?”

Gaara sighed, irritated at the insistent little man on the other side of the red counter. “Yes,” Gaara answered. He didn’t like repeating himself.

“And it’s here?”

Gaara looked up from his philosophy textbook and glared at the man. He was heavy-set, bald, wore small, frameless glasses, and was apparently a car collector. Sometimes such people would wander into the shop to ask questions about Gaara’s private collection. Finding out who owned what rare car was fairly easy if you knew how to ask questions of the right people and search, and eventually Gaara’s name would come up in connection to the Rolls.

Personally, Gaara was convinced these idiots came by with no other purpose than to annoy the shit out of him. A private collection was just that: private. Inquisitive minds could fuck right the hell off.

“Where do you keep it?”

Gaara shut the textbook. “It’s none of your business where I keep it.”

“But it’s under protective tarps and in a climate-controlled storage facility at least, yes?” The man looked concerned. “The paint is a very rare hand-created mixture of-"

“Yes,” Gaara agreed, cutting him off. “I do know a little something about cars.” Gaara cocked a pale eyebrow.

“Oh, yes, of course you do,” the man agreed, flustered. “Apologies. I don’t suppose I could see the Ghost?”

“No.”

“Do you ever take it to car-"

“No.”

“But you should!” the man said, insistent, aggravating, and leaning entirely too far over the counter. Gaara could smell his breath. “There’s some money to be made in showing such a rare specimen. I could-"

“I don’t need money,” Gaara said, patience completely gone. “I have the damned Ghost. And the shop.”

“Let me give you my card,” the man began digging in his pockets, and Gaara repressed the urge to reach over and slam the man’s head against the counter and shove the business card into the asshole’s ear canal.

Jody wouldn’t approve. And lawsuits were a pain in the ass.

Instead, Gaara looked up and saw something that temporarily took his mind off the homework for his current online course and wishing violence upon humanity.

A 1970 Dodge Charger pulled into the parking lot. She was black, shiny, and came complete with blower. The trim was silver chrome, the windows were tinted nearly black – which was probably not street-legal, but what the hell – and even inside the building Gaara could hear the churn and chug of the Hemi. The car was Hollywood’s favorite car to destroy, making it rather rare these days to find one intact.

Gaara looked at the pretty, pretty car and saw Jody already outside with his hands in his pockets approaching the vehicle with a smile on his face.

“Hello?” the car collector said. He waved his card under Gaara’s nose. Scowling, Gaara snatched the card and gave the man a look that made the asshole go pale.

“I like guns, too,” Gaara growled. “You want to talk about that collection?”

The man backed away with a wave of his hand and an expression caught between anxiety and irritation.

“Get out of my shop,” Gaara said calmly, looking back out the front windows. The man obeyed, the bell ringing as he left, but Gaara paid it little attention. The Charger’s engine shut off, and Gaara started to walk out from behind the counter but stopped dead in his tracks when the driver’s door opened and the owner got out.

Gaara watched as Jody shook hands with the fucking Inuzuka, and thought – not for the first time – that the Universe was truly out to irritate him to death.

There was no one else in the main part of the shop, so no one saw Gaara turn and nearly run around the counter and through the door leading toward his office.

The front door bell rang, and Gaara paused just inside his private space. “…can fix you right up, Mr. Inuzuka,” Jody’s voice boomed. “Won’t take long – got a bay free. Just have ya a seat.”

“Thanks,” Kiba said. “Is Gaara ‘round?”

“He was behind the counter. Prob’ly just stepped away. He’s here, though, why?”

“I’m friends with his big brother. Thought I’d drop in, say ‘hi.’”

Gaara didn’t slam his office door, but he did shut it firmer than usual. He looked at the doorknob and sincerely regretted the lack of lock. It didn’t make sense, really, to have locks on so many doors in Gaara’s life but none on this one. He would remedy that situation immediately if not sooner.

Sweeping around the large, L-shaped desk, Gaara stared down at his chair and pressed a fist to his mouth. He thought about shoving the chair beneath the doorknob to keep the bastard out, but he knew there wasn’t enough time. Instead, he collapsed down into the ergonomic piece of metal and plastic and chewed on his thumb.

Kiba was here.

And knew his brother.

And drove a fucking Charger.

The mental image of himself wrapped in Jody’s arms yesterday while Jody jerked him off and Gaara thought about Kiba assaulted Gaara’s brain. He didn’t want Kiba here. In fact, every fiber of his being hated the man and wanted to get as far away from him as possible. Kiba made Gaara nervous, uncomfortable, hot, and more than a little out of control.

This was not Gaara’s preferred cocktail of emotion.

Actually, Gaara didn’t like any cocktails of emotion, really. He’d take anger or indifference straight-up, please.

There was a knock on his office door, and Gaara’s head snapped up and his hand fell away from his mouth as Kiba walked in without waiting for an answer.

“Hey,” the cocky bastard said nicely, shutting the door behind him. Kiba wore a faded red t-shirt with the words, “Anarchists Assemble” on it in block letters. The collar was loose and Gaara could see he wore another shirt under the red one. A short, leather jacket provided a third layer, and his jeans and heavy boots were casual and looked comfortable. Sunglasses pushed back his unruly brown hair on top of his head, and Gaara found himself lost in a second staring at Kiba’s eyes in this light. They were the palest of pale greens Gaara’d ever seen, and the pupils stood out like tiny coals.

Kiba leaned back against the door. “Miss me?” he asked, grin splitting his lips. Gaara observed a length of chain around Kiba’s throat, saw the leather cuff on one of Kiba’s wrists as he crossed his arms, and then he forced himself to look down at his desk. He yanked open a drawer, ostensibly searching for something.

“No,” Gaara said. “What do you want?”

“Oil change,” Kiba said.

“Waiting area is out front,” Gaara replied, shutting the drawer without removing anything. His hands played on the desk, searching for something with which to fidget.

“Kankuro said t’tell ya, ‘hi,’” Kiba said calmly, pushing away from the door. He walked over and sank down into the chair opposite the desk. The plastic creaked, and Kiba paused as if seeing if the chair would hold his weight. It was small and cheap; Jody put it in Gaara’s office so he’d have a place to sit when they talked shop. The only other furniture was Gaara’s desk, his chair, and a tall set of shelves full of books and a weird assortment of knick-knacks.

“You know my brother,” Gaara stated. He found a paperclip and started unbending it.

“Yessir,” Kiba answered, and Gaara could feel his eyes roaming over Gaara’s form. “We talked quite a bit ‘bout ya.”

Gaara didn’t know how he felt about that, but it gave him pause to think of Kiba and Kankuro exchanging…what? Information? A list of Gaara’s food allergies?

_Fuck._

“Didn’t know you were his brother ‘til couple weeks ago, though. Put the baby bro he’s always goin’ on ‘bout together with the DJ at the clubs. You two got diff’rent las’ names.”

“Yes,” Gaara answered. The paperclip was now a straight line. He needed Kiba out of here, but he could hear the recording of Jody’s voice in his mind blathering on about paying customers.

“Uh, why is that?”

“He took his mother’s name,” Gaara answered and then clacked his teeth shut. Why – _why_ – did he feel the need to actually answer this fool’s questions?

“Ah,” Kiba said, nodding and playing with the knee of his jeans. “Same dad, diff’rent moms, then?”

“The waiting area’s out-"

“You got a sis, too, doncha?” Kiba asked.

_That’s fucking it._

Gaara stood up, spine nearly snapping as it went straight. “I told you: I’m not interested. Stop interrogating me and get the fuck out of my office.” He glared at Kiba and tried not to let it show that he was nervous and on edge. But even Gaara knew he failed in that department.

“Nah,” Kiba said, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head with a smirk. “And I’m not interrogatin’ – just askin’ questions, sweetheart.”

“Call me that again, and I swear to Christ I’ll-" Gaara stopped himself and breathed in deeply with his eyes closed. No – he would not let this man rock his world like this. How in the hell Kiba got to him so fast and so easily was beyond Gaara, but he stilled himself and tried to calm down. He needed this man away from him, and blindly he reached for the phone to call an employee back to assist with the Kiba problem. Gaara couldn’t shoot him on property – or anywhere else for that matter, in truth – but he could call in Sora and -

“Or you’ll, what… _sweetheart_?”

Gaara opened his eyes and saw that Kiba was on his feet, too, and much closer. One of his hands was splayed on the desk, and he leaned forward as he searched Gaara’s face with those –

_(pretty jade)_

\- strange eyes. And there it was – the grin from that night at Break. That was the set of teeth that haunted Gaara’s thoughts and fantasies since Sunday despite Gaara’s efforts to make the images fade and go away. It made him angry that he was so out of sorts because of this man. It worried him that in just a few short days, Kiba had infiltrated his dreams and seemed to be setting up house. Gaara didn’t _want_ , he didn’t _long_ , and he wasn’t about to fucking start now.

“I warned you,” Gaara said coldly. And in a mad flash of hazy red, Gaara snatched up a metal letter opener out of an Akasuna Auto coffee mug and jammed it down into the webbing between Kiba’s thumb and forefinger. The metal bit into skin and desk with a loud _thwock_!

Kiba’s eyes widened and his mouth opened without sound. Both he and Gaara stared down at the split skin of Kiba’s left hand, blood pooling on the desk blotter. For a couple of seconds that seemed to pass by slowly enough to have their own calendars, nothing happened.

Then Kiba made a low, rough noise, and Gaara’s head snapped up to look at him. Now that it was done, he didn’t know quite how to feel about the violence inherent in this system. He’d probably gone too far – a client was bleeding on his desk, after all – and he could already hear his sister and his shrink sighing with long-suffering patience. In a flash Gaara saw Kiba making threats, Jody coming in, the cops storming the shop, and Gaara would be on medication and under supervision for the rest of his natural life.

“Oh,” Kiba said like something disgusted him. Gaara took a step back, trying to find words. Then green eyes snapped up to meet his, and the look there was _hungry_.

“It’s on now, _bitch_ ,” Kiba snarled.

Kiba yanked the opener out of his flesh and the desk with a vicious display of strength that sent blood spraying. He cursed but didn’t let the pain stop him from using his injured hand to brace as he leapt _over_ the desk. Paperwork and the coffee mug went flying as Kiba’s leg knocked them aside.

Gaara stood frozen for a quarter of a second, and then immediately threw himself backward. He turned and reached for the edge of the desk to help propel him out of Kiba’s way and toward the shelves where he kept a .38, but there wasn’t enough time for avoidance or enough space to maneuver. A rough hand grabbed the back of Gaara’s shirt and Kiba slung Gaara backward and into a wall with enough force to make a paperweight shudder on the desk.

Air left Gaara’s lungs, and his hands came up to block his face on instinct, but Kiba was already there, grabbing Gaara’s wrists. Kiba shoved a long shin over Gaara’s thighs to keep him from kicking, and he twist-pulled Gaara’s arms above his head, shoulders and wrists popping beneath the grip. Gaara gulped in some air to make a soft noise as his arms were rammed against the wall, and he blinked, dazed.

“They were right ‘bout you,” Kiba said, voice oddly…calm. Anger warred with shock in Gaara’s body, and he couldn’t find his tongue to respond.

“Asked Naru and Kashi and even fuckin’ Kimi about the lil’ DJ,” Kiba explained, head tilting to one side as he studied the man in front of him. “’bout what he does, if there’s a _who_ that he does, what he likes. And they all said same thing: he’s fuckin’ crazy.” Kiba grinned at Gaara as his eyes narrowed, nearly playful. “Said he’s dangerous and a bad, bad boy.”

Gaara glared at Kiba and yanked his arms, but Kiba’s grip held. The man was almost twice Gaara’s size, he noticed thanks to the rather intimate proximity. Gaara felt something slick on his arm.

_That’s blood. He’s bleeding on me._

That shocked him still, and Gaara bit the inside of his cheek.

“And fuck me,” Kiba half-groaned. “But I love ‘em nuts. I _like_ ‘em with teeth, bitch.” Kiba roughly switched his grip to hold Gaara’s wrists with his uninjured hand, and Gaara shivered as Kiba’s fingers ground bone and muscle together and made it all hurt.

Kiba chuckled. “An’ you like me.” Kiba brought his hand down to his mouth and sucked on the wound. Blood smeared on his lips, and he licked it off with a dark red tongue.

“Doncha?” Kiba asked with a steady gaze.

Gaara stared at Kiba’s red hand and wrist. For a second he watched the man suck at the wound while Kiba’s eyes scanned Gaara’s face. Then he swallowed.

“No, I don’t,” Gaara whispered, eyes snapping to lock on Kiba’s. “And you’re insane.” He managed to make the last sound like he meant it.

“Oh now _I’m_ crazy, huh?” Kiba snorted. “I ain’t the one stabbin’ people, honey.” Kiba drew slightly closer until Gaara could feel Kiba’s breath on his face. Gaara tried to hold the man’s gaze and found he couldn’t.

“But if we gotta do this lil’ dance to get ya talkin’?” Kiba shrugged and flexed his hurt hand. Gaara’s eyes went back to the blood and then dragged themselves away with effort. His heart hammered in his chest and he could feel his pulse racing at his throat and temples. He needed…away. Out. Gone. Now.

_Oh…hell…_

With a soft noise, Gaara shifted and felt the weight of Kiba’s body across his legs and pressing him into the wall above his head. He shifted and struggled, and felt Kiba’s unrelenting pressure as Kiba held him still. But oddly that didn’t add to his sense of panic; it soothed it. That made exactly no sense, and Gaara shook his head and tried to force himself out of the daze that this bit of shocking physicality caused.

“Let. Me. Go.” Gaara glared and snarled.

“Nah,” Kiba said with another shrug.

The indifference and his own position made Gaara feel more than a little crazed and trapped and…other things.

“Fuck off!” Gaara yelled, riding the anger. “Get the fuck off me!” He struggled and Kiba met him thrash for flail.

“ _I’m going to fucking kick your ass!_ ” Gaara hissed, panting now. And it wasn’t just exertion. His eyes went wide as he realized with no small amount of horror that he was hard.

“Okay,” Kiba said, sounding almost eager. He tilted his head to one side again, and Gaara stared at the bit of dried red at the corner of Kiba’s mouth. He studied how it cracked when Kiba’s lips moved.

“Ya wanna hurt me? Fine by me, doll. I like it down as much as I like it up.” He leaned closer and his voice dropped lower. Gaara felt rough stubble against his face as Kiba spoke. “Ya gotta mean swing, bitch?” he whispered. “Wanna tear up my back and my ass and make me beg ya to stop and fuck me?”

Gaara panted, and there was a rush in his ears that drowned out everything but Kiba’s voice. He turned his head away with a frustrated noise, but it sounded a little too much like a whine.

“Ya wanna fuck me _and_ hurt me?” Kiba rumbled, lips moving now against Gaara’s cheek. “’sall good, sweetheart…” Kiba pulled back and his eyes grew sly and cocky and sure. “I know what ya like.”

Rough, slick fingers gripped the sides of Gaara’s face, and in a panic he realized Kiba pressed his wound over Gaara’s mouth. He struggled and made a noise born of claustrophobia and confrontation.

“If ya wanted a taste, you could'a just asked,” Kiba said, low and soft and clearer of accent. “Go on.”

Gaara shook his head. He didn’t want this. He thought. Maybe. Confusion and heat beat in Gaara’s mind, and he flashed back to Haze and licking a long line of blood off his own skin. His taste buds recalled with crimson clarity the bitter flavor; the thickness of the liquid usually left on the inside of human bodies, untouchable and…

_Sacred man, lemme drink you…_

Pushing hard against Kiba’s hand and leg, Gaara let out a shaking breath. Sweat rolled down his sides under his shirt. His cock was hard and heavy beneath his jeans. And his brain was a mess of thought and void.

“I’m clean,” Kiba rumbled, eyes half-lidded as he stared at Gaara’s mouth. "Now do it.” The order was firm and low and slithered down Gaara’s spine like snakes seeking to bend will.

Breath entirely too quick, Gaara’s tongue darted out and gathered a tiny drop from Kiba’s skin, and then he jerked his head away. Enough, God…get him away, Gaara prayed to the imaginary Maker.

_Get him away before it’s…before I…oh God, I think I want… I think I want him to..._

Kiba crooned and let go of Gaara’s wrists and dropped his leg. Gaara’s arms fell to his sides, limp from lack of blood flow, but he used his shoulder and entire body to shove Kiba away.

Making another soft noise, Kiba’s hands came up to settle on Gaara’s upper arms, fingers gently rubbing. Gaara tried to ignore that, and he sucked in a long, harsh breath. He struggled and pushed against Kiba’s chest without any force. The furious words welled up and stung his tongue, and he was ready to scream for Jody. Ready to pick up a paperweight and bash this fucker’s head into new shapes.

But a smell stopped him – a familiar smell. Gaara blinked.

“Strawberries,” he said.

Kiba stared at Gaara uncomprehendingly and the hands on Gaara's arms flexed minutely. “Um,” Kiba said. “Is that like, yer safeword or-"

“The smell,” Gaara said, cutting Kiba off. “It’s…”

“Oh,” Kiba said. “Yeah – candy. It’s strawberry candy.” Kiba dug his right hand into his jacket pocket, and some part of Gaara made mental note that Kiba seemed completely and utterly unconcerned about his split hand, the mess in the office, the blood on his mouth and all over Gaara’s clothes. And wall. And floor. Drips and splatters marked their dance, and would be a real bitch to clean up.

But all the note-taking stopped when Kiba pulled out a familiar hard candy in a ruby wrapper.

“I suck on ‘em when I can’t smoke. Some foreign shit,” Kiba said, holding the treat between his fingers. He had nice hands.

_This is…confusing. Too much confusion…_

Gaara breathed, and Kiba continued. “But they’re good. Ya wanna try one?” Kiba looked at Gaara like they’d just spent the last ten minutes calmly discussing classical literature instead of fighting with makeshift weapons and drinking blood.

Gaara stared at the candy and then turned his head. On his desk sat a bowl full of the same pieces of sugar and flavoring. Jody bought them for Gaara – they were his favorite.

“Oh,” Kiba said and smiled. “So you-"

“Boss, I’m done with-" Jody walked into the room, and then froze with one hand on the doorknob. He looked at the coffee mug and paper on the floor, saw Kiba’s hand on Gaara’s shoulder, took in the blood that was in all sorts of interesting places, and then his hazel eyes went dark as he leveled his focus on Kiba.

“Oh shit,” Kiba said.

Jody looked at Gaara for a brief second – giving Gaara a chance to protest, explain, or yell, perhaps – and then he crossed the room looking like a bulldozer bent on death and destruction.

Kiba released Gaara and held up his hand. Jody paused and looked at the wound, but then quite obviously disregarded it.

“I wasn’t-"

“Don’t fuckin’ matter,” Jody said gruffly with a shake of his head. Massive hands reached and grabbed the smaller man and pulled him back across the desk without apparent strain. Paperwork, pens, and the phone went flying into the floor with clatters and a loud clang. Kiba made a startled noise and reached up to grab at the big man’s wrists, but Jody didn’t falter. He turned and half-dragged and half-carried the spluttering Kiba out of Gaara’s office.

Gaara walked around the desk – stepping over the debris that was now all over the floor – and followed them into the hallway. He couldn’t pull his thoughts together, so instead he played the part of the bystander.

Jody managed Kiba like his size, weight, and struggles were insignificant annoyances. There were customers in the waiting area, and instead of walking through them, Jody shoved his shoulder into the door leading into the shop. Gaara followed, eyes alight with curiosity and a tinge of self-righteousness.

“Jody, it’s not-" Kiba tried again.

“I tol’ you,” Jody yelled over Kiba’s protests. “It don’t fuckin’ matter.”

Sora and Guren stepped away from a Mercedes to watch as Jody calmly and efficiently walked the length of the shop and quite literally threw Kiba out of the bay door. Kiba landed on the pavement with a heavy thud and slide, and he cursed as he got up onto his hands and knees.

Jody grabbed a massive wrench – he used it to undo engine bolts on Volkswagens – and slung it up behind his neck and across his shoulders. The thing weighed about twenty pounds and could easily take someone’s head off with the proper force and application.

And Gaara knew Jody would have no trouble with either of those bits of physics.

“Your car’s done,” Jody said, voice cold. “Now get the hell outta here ‘fore I do somethin’ that’ll make me have to repave the goddamned parkin’ lot.”

Kiba stood up with a grimace and looked at Gaara, who said nothing, just stared at Kiba blankly. Part of him felt it served the bastard right. Part of him was happy Kiba had said nothing of his injury – not that he really had the chance, but he could have barked out that Gaara stabbed him.

And a tiny part thought he should speak up and say something in defense of the man who now picked up his broken sunglasses and brushed himself off.

But Gaara was good at ignoring those sorts of impulses. This would get the cocky asshole out of his hair and life, and he wouldn’t have to contemplate that scene back in his office in that case. There would be no point – none of it mattered as long as Kiba went away.

Far, far away, preferably.

Kiba’s lips pursed for a second and then he straightened his spine and bowed low at the waist. He stayed like that as he spoke.

“Thank you for working on the car. I apologize for the misunderstanding.” He spoke clearly and precisely and then snapped upright. Gaara licked his lips and shifted his weight, arms crossing over his chest.

Kiba started to go and then paused. Jody stiffened, but Kiba merely tossed the piece of candy that was still in his hand. It landed near Gaara’s feet.

“Ya should try it,” Kiba called. “Never know what ya might like if ya don’t try shit.”

Jody took a menacing step forward and Kiba turned on his heel and went to his car. Gaara watched Kiba start up the purring engine and leave. Then he looked down at the candy and tried not to think about the none-too-subtle message of Kiba’s parting words.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ So far, Gaara has hurt Kiba's wrist, slammed his arm in a door, and stabbed him. Good thing they're both masochistic. And yes, Kiba's been possibly too dogmatic (heh) in his pursuits, but again… when dealing with crazy… one has to BE a little crazy.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [You're Goin' Down - Sick Puppies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLrxT8Vu978).All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> It's been a long time comin'  
> And the table's turned around  
> 'Cause one of us is goin'  
> One of us is goin' down  
> I'm not runnin'  
> It's a little different now  
> 'Cause one of us is goin'  
> One of us is goin' down.
> 
> ∞ Be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love & war wounds,  
> ♥Dee


	11. Chapter 11

_“Stryke, you are not yourself tonight.”_ It’s the refined caller from last week; Kiba recognizes the voice and the air of superiority in the tone. He chuckles and rolls his eyes, mouth pulling into a smirk.

 _“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared about me, babe.”_ Kiba leans back in his chair at the studio, lit cigarette in hand. The only light comes from the red-covered lamp in the corner. The only sound is the voice in Kiba’s headset and the faint snoring of a massive, white dog lying at Kiba’s feet. The studio execs don’t like Kiba bringing Akamaru with him, but fuck ‘em. They weren’t here, and Kiba needs the comfort of the sleeping dog right now.

In front of Kiba is the instrument panel, a pack of smokes, his favorite Zippo, and a piece of strawberry candy. On a table next to him are a half-empty bottle of Jack and a mostly-full two-liter of Coke. Above him, smoke swirls and fades.

 _“I enjoy your show as a study of hedonism and find it fascinating in its ability to push the envelope. But tonight you play music and answer questions with questions. So.”_ The caller trails off, and it is too bad that Kankuro is sound asleep on his couch with the radio still on with volume low.

Kiba grunts and pulls the mic closer to his mouth. What the caller says is true: Kiba’s played more music than dirty talk tonight, and he’s avoided many of his usual verbal games with old psychology tricks. Repeat what they say; ask and you shall receive and manage to avoid thinking about life and loss for a little while…

_“Maybe I got things on my mind, babe. Maybe I just want to keep you guessing. Maybe I got the shits.”_

The caller makes a disgusted noise. _“Maybe you’re an ass.”_

The line disconnects, and Kiba rumbles a low laugh into the mic. _“Boy’s still got no teeth, Monoshizukanohi. But he’s got a helluva hard on for ol’ Stryke.”_ Kiba grabs the bottle of Jack and drinks directly from it, not caring that half the city listens eagerly to the slosh and swallow. He wipes his mouth with the back of his bandaged hand and sighs loudly in the silence of the studio. The lights blink on the panel in front of him, but he ignores them.

 _“But he’s made me want to confess, and I know ya want that. You always want the dirt, and you know Stryke’s good for dirty little secrets and bruises and things that make the weak cower in the dark.”_ Kiba stubs out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. _“So I’ll tell you true that tonight he’s not the only one with blue balls and an unclaimed hard on. My favorite pretty-speakin’ toothless wonder is far from the only frustrated soul, and maybe his insult came close to a vein, Monoshizukanohi.”_

No one’s ever heard Stryke quite like this: seemingly melancholy and angry in his honesty. It pains the heart of many a listener, and more than a few think that if they had Stryke to have and to hold, he’d never sound that way again.

_“Tonight you’ve heard me croon and listened to the bitches swoon. It’s early and late, citizens of this great city of hate, and you know what that means?”_

“Has anyone ever told him that he sounds like a bad impersonation of Dr. Seuss when he does that rhyming shit?” Sasuke asks mildly from his side of the bed as he turns a page in the latest Stephen King novel that is propped up on his bent knees.

“Shhh!” Naruto hisses. His brow is furrowed and his arms are crossed over a bare chest as he listens to Kiba. He wonders what in the hell is wrong with Kiba and silently wishes he wasn’t so busy with work lately.

_“Means it’s story time, my friends. I owe you an update on the man who now knows both my name and the taste of my blood.”_

And with the words there is a collective pause in penthouses and apartments and city streets alike. Images of fangs and glittering eyes dance in the imaginations of many, and even more pull their lips back in dismayed curiosity.

Kiba’s chair creaks as he sits forward. There’s the clink-strike-breath of another cigarette, and Kiba’s eyes close as he muses to the masses.

_“This story is short an’ the chapters are few, but My Immortal Irritated does not seem taken with me. In fact, he’s runnin’ scared and firin’ at me as he flees. I got his attention – I told you, boys and girls, I am good at what I do – but now he’s intent on forgettin’. I know what he wants, and it begins with me bein' a dick and ends with maybe us bein' good, but…”_

A drink, a long drag, a tired sigh, and the city mourns with the voice of the somber DJ.

_“And so I ask you, my people of Freakdom: how far do you go? When love would rather stab you than kiss you; would rather build walls of denial than get to know you…How close to the knife’s edge do you press? How long do you beg? Or do you bother? Bite me good and wise, Monoshizukanohi…I need your teeth tonight.”_

In the master bedroom on the top floor of his shared renovated townhouse, Kakashi sighs in the dark. He rolls his head on his pillow to look at Iruka, who sleeps on his side curled into a ball. When he dreams, he looks all of about fifteen, and Kakashi smiles before leaning over to lightly swipe his lips over his lover’s hair. Iruka doesn’t even stir, and Kakashi carefully slides out of their warm bed.

_“Stryke here. Speak.”_

_“Oh my God – is it really you?”_ A woman’s voice sounds giddy and breathless in Kakashi’s earbuds, and he represses a snort as he silently pads down two flights of stairs and makes his way toward the kitchen.

 _“Oh yeah, it’s me all right,”_ Kiba replies in his best sultry voice. Even Kakashi admits it’s a good one. The kind of voice that makes one want to do things…all sorts of things, in fact. He grabs a glass out of a cupboard.

_“I can’t believe I got through…I just had to try because…”_

_“Because what, sweetheart?”_

_“Because I wanted to ask if you really let some guy, like…bite you. For real. Like Edward Cullen and shit.”_

Now Kakashi does snort; honestly, the children in this city. He pours himself some water and feels sorry for the idiot woman. She should be grateful that this is an on-air encounter and not anything happening face-to-face, for Kiba would grin that feral snarl of a smile of his and proceed to intimidate her into a corner.

And the bitch of it all is that he’d do it for fun because Kiba thought it a treat to toy with his food. But she’d go away hot, bothered, and eager for more, none the wiser to his scornful snickering.

Kakashi often found that the things he admires in people are simultaneously the things that most aggravate him.

 _“You like teeth, sweetheart?”_ Kiba husks over the airwaves. “ _Like the idea of some hot guy latchin’ on to my throat and marking me his? Twisting skin and lickin’ a hot, needy, tongue over my flesh ‘til I – “_ Kiba pauses and hisses into the mic. “ _Moan?_ ”

The woman doesn’t answer in words, but her whimpered swallow is heard by eager and sympathetic listeners.

Shaking his head, Kakashi grabs his phone off a table and shoots a text message off to a certain cell number.

 _“Bet you like that,”_ Kiba rumbles. His phone beeps to tell him he has a message:

  1. L CALLIN. GET RID OF BITCH.



Kiba grins. _“So tell ya what, babydoll: I’m gonna moan for you now and let you think about teeth and blood and fuckin’ sparklin’ skin. Sound good?”_

_“Y-yeah…”_

_“Good, baby. ‘cause Stryke’s here for you: all you have to do is want it.”_

Kiba texts back as he unleashes a breathy, heated, half-sobbing moan into the microphone pressed against his lips that makes Kankuro sit up on the couch with a curse, has Kakashi bursting into laughter, makes Naruto look at the radio with a loud, “AW, HELL!” and has the woman on the other end of the line speechless, blushing, and insanely grateful she had the balls to call in the first place.

 _“Oh fuck, baby…”_ Kiba nearly whines. Like he’s a second away from coming, but in truth he’s limp and languid as he looks at a light go bright on the board. _“Oooh, gotta go. Dream dark for Stryke.”_ Kiba disconnects the line, smug and self-satisfied. He pulls a long drag on the bottle of Jack before he picks up a particular call-in line.

 _“Damn you people are gettin’ me hot tonight,”_ Kiba pseudo-pants into the mic, queuing in the call. _“Stryke here. C’mon, make me beg for it.”_

 _“Stryke.”_ Kakashi speaks the name like the crack of a bullwhip. _“It is like you call to me from deep, dark place and I answer you to the help.”_

Some listeners muffle cries or laughs of delight, suddenly more awake than they have any right to be.

Some turn off their radio dials immediately, thinking it time to be off to sleep.

Others just roll their eyes indulgently.

 _“Well fuck me, Dr. Love! Long time no hear,”_ Kiba laughs delightedly. _“What can I do you for, Doc?”_

_“You can do me to tell more of this blood-sucking man.”_

Naruto groans and puts a palm to his forehead.

“And that’s my cue,” Sasuke says, snapping shut the tome of a book and getting out of bed. “I’ll be down the hall.”

Naruto lets him go; it’s hard enough for him to listen to Kakashi’s horrific Russian accent with any sort of patience. Sasuke is likely to set the ancient alarm clock on fire if forced to listen to more than a sentence or two.

 _“…not much to tell,”_ Kiba continues on the radio. _“What, you callin’ in to help me, babe?”_

_“Your terms of tenderness are equally annoying as the lack of detail. You ask of us – all of us – question: how far we go for love, yes?”_

_“It is a topic near and dear to my cock at the moment, yeah.”_ In the studio, Kiba’s finger reaches out and almost – but not quite – touches the piece of strawberry candy.

Kakashi snorts in the darkness of his home and tilts the kitchen chair back, one hand behind his head. _“All things dear to your cock, Stryke. Of this we know. But you go as far as you have to for the love. If knife involved, you take wound. If teeth are sharp, you learn to love feel of incisor on skin. Should be no jump for you, eh?”_

Naruto listens to Kakashi and thinks about what he knows of the gray-haired man and Naruto’s old teacher, Iruka. Images of Kakashi at Glow after hours drinking and bemoaning the adorable brunet who would happily give him the time of day but absolutely nothing else dance behind Naruto’s eyes, and he smiles, glad things turned out the way they did.

Then Naruto swivels his head and looks toward the door to the bedroom which is slightly ajar after Sasuke’s flight. He loses himself in memories of screaming matches, fucking in bathroom stalls, spankings, video games, begging, and petulant dark eyes.

But all the bad – the smirks, the disobedience, the arrogance – is rendered null, void, and unimportant as Naruto recalls buying Sasuke a chain pocket watch three years ago for his birthday. Sasuke’s father used to carry one very similar, and Sasuke held the thing in his hands for ten long seconds – Naruto counted – before throwing his arms around Naruto’s neck and whispering a rushed, heated, “Thank you.”

Naruto grabs his phone off the nightstand.

_“So you’re sayin’ I do whatever it takes. Sacrifice dignity and body and pride and whatever else just to get a shot to kiss this guy.”_

Kakashi’s expression turns equal parts tender and concerned. Gods. Kiba never picked easy paths. It was no mystery to him whom Kiba was after; Kakashi made it his business to know everything, after all. And it was an easy thing to link Kiba’s questions about a certain redheaded DJ to Kiba’s on-air banter and poetry.

_“I am Love Doctor. Of course I think you do all for matters of heart. You are Stryke: you do not give in or up or down. You give chase and do not fear the red haze.”_

The words are enough to let Kiba know that Kakashi understands too much.

Typical.

Kiba takes a long swig of whiskey and looks down as his phone beeps: a text from Naruto.

KAKA RITE. IF <3 CRAZY THEN U TAKE WHTEVR.

Kiba snorts in the mic, thinking that if anyone knew about loving crazy people, it is definitely Naruto. Listeners wait with bated breath and imagine their many versions of DJ Stryke in various dark rooms that are terribly far from the mark. They listen, they dream, they wonder, and – crazily – they hope for the best for their favorite, nearly-real, wicked man.

 _“You know what I love most about this fuckin’ city?”_ Kiba says.

_“Inexpensive cable with the 24 hour porn channel?”_

_“Nah – though that’s nice. I love that everybody here’s as fucked in the head as I am.”_

_“So true, Stryke. Is so true.”_

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ This chapter was a surprise when I wrote it. Oh, Kakashi… You wonderful, sappy man.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Bad Obsession - Guns 'n Roses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9TaKTMq4PE).All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> But I can't stop thinkin' 'bout  
> Seein' ya one more time  
> (Oh no)  
> But I already left you  
> And you're better off left behind  
> It's a bad obsession  
> It's always messin'  
> It's always messin' my mind
> 
> ∞ Be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much Dr. Love,  
> ♥Dee


	12. Chapter 12

Gaara sat in his booth in Bliss on a chair that made his tailbone ache and stared down at his glass of cranberry juice – straight, no ice – and wondered if he could make it stronger through sheer will power. Or if he could possibly just walk over to the bar, drain half a bottle of vodka, and then use the juice as a chaser.

The drink swirled in the glass with a slight tilt of Gaara’s hand, and it was like the liquid mocked him with its lazy slosh.

Tonight was the Annual Poker Tournament at Club Break. Hordes of kinky well-to-dos had poured through the cathedral doors of Bliss earlier in the night and then descended the stone stairs down into the bowels of the building for hours of betting and heavy breathing.

The DJ, however, was absent from his usual position in the BDSM club, preferring instead to spin from Bliss and run his Bot down in Break. In point of fact, he’d almost not come here tonight at all, but Neji was infernally polite in his persistence.

“What do you mean you can’t spin at the clubs for a while?” Neji’d asked when Gaara called several days ago. An hour before Gaara’d dialed Neji’s private cell number, Jody’d thrown Kiba out on his ass in the parking lot of Akasuna Auto. The time for avoidance, it seemed then, was upon Gaara.

“What part of that confuses you?” Gaara asked. Not rude – just direct and slightly puzzled. Neji rarely asked for clarification.

“The part where you’re not going to spin at the Poker Tournament. It’s part of the terms of your contract, Gaara, to spin at events.” Neji’s voice remained even and professional as he carefully stated rules and agreements long-negotiated. “Are you injured? Sick?”

“No and no,” Gaara replied.

“Then what is it? The event is Saturday. This is Tuesday. Such short notice leaves me with few options, and Gaara, I think we’re friendly enough that I can say I’m not happy about that.”

Gaara sighed. Responsibilities could go fuck themselves up the virgin ass without lube.

“I will spin on Saturday in Bliss,” Gaara said, trying not to clench his teeth. “I’ll run the Bot in Break. Will that do?”

Neji was quiet for a moment. “I see,” he replied, as if he understood something Gaara hadn’t voiced. “That will do, yes. Your sets are good even without the hands-on touch. I hope your…situation improves.”

“Saturday then.” Gaara had hung up without further commentary. He didn’t find it necessary to tell Neji that he was avoiding Kiba. Let Neji make his own assumptions and conclusions. He would do that, anyway.

Gaara gnawed on the side of his thumb, which was turning raw from overuse, he noted absently. The past few days since the shop incident had been…difficult. Because despite Gaara’s efforts to simply put everything out of his mind – Kiba, his parting words, the smell of strawberries, the bloodstains on the carpet – Gaara found that he couldn’t do it. For the first time in years of being sober, Gaara wanted oblivion. Number crunching and music and college courses were not doing the job of turning off the wheels in his brain. There was too much painful introspection and conscious denial going on, and even Gaara knew he was hiding from things.

Denial indicated fear. And the fear irked him. Quite a bit.

What it was, exactly, that he was afraid of continued to elude Gaara. And he thought that was somehow tied into the denial, but in the end it left him an irritated mess in no shape to deal with humanity.

Thankfully, Jody came through for Gaara on that note. For after the phone call to Neji last Tuesday, it’d been time to contend with Jody.

At first Jody seemed content without details. After Kiba had driven away with a roar of engine, he’d turned to address the shop.

“That man bothered Boss,” Jody announced in a cold, dangerous voice that he rarely had occasion to use anymore. “I don’t much like that sort of behavior.” He hoisted the wrench onto one shoulder and put his other hand in a fist on his hip. “Anybody got a problem with that?” He drawled.

“Hell no,” Sora said immediately. The other staff shook their heads in fast confirmation of Sora’s words.

Jody grunted. “Then get back to it, ya’ll. Ain’t got much use for gawkers or laziness, none.”

Gaara listened to all that in a semi-numb state and said nothing; he turned and went back to his office to make his phone calls and collect himself. He washed off Kiba’s blood from his skin in the bathroom sink, and tried not to think about anything. Gaara’d been straightening the room when Jody walked into the office and shut the door quietly behind him.

“Boss.”

“Jody.” Gaara held a stack of paperwork in his hands. There were two drops of blood on the back of the top sheet.

“He hurt you?”

Gaara shook his head once.

“He gonna?”

Gaara’s eyes went down to one side as he considered. He tried very hard not to shiver at the memory of Kiba’s voice promising and offering pain. But that wasn’t what Jody meant, so he shook his head again.

Jody bit his lip. “He’s the one, ain’t he? The guy from last Sunday who had you all upset.”

“Yes,” Gaara admitted. He blushed slightly but paid it no mind. Jody would sooner die than point out such things to Gaara when he was like this.

Jody made a soft noise of understanding. “All right then.” The two men were quiet for a long moment. “You want ‘im to come back?” Jody asked softly.

“No.” The word was cold, emphatic, and full of quiet fury. The fury was so much easier to manage than anything else at the moment.

Jody nodded, considering. “You tell me the rules, and I play by ‘em, boss. He steps foot on property again without you tellin’ me he can, and he’s dead.” Jody said this calmly and quietly. And with absolute seriousness.

“I don’t like that he upsets you,” Jody continued, half to himself. “He drives a cocky-ass car, and that means he’s a cocky bastard. That kind ‘a shit pisses me off.”

Gaara sighed. The thought of beating Kiba’s brains out with his paperweight was still appealing. However, the thought of Jody doing the same thing was not.

“No one gets to kill him but me,” Gaara said, quiet but firm. “Short of that, do what you will.” He paused. “It’s…confusing.” Gaara couldn’t explain any further. He sighed and threw the paperwork into the trash. He didn’t give a shit what it was; just wanted it gone.

“I got your back, boss.” Jody came a little closer and put one hand on Gaara’s narrow shoulder. “Take some time and work it all out. I know ya will. And in the meanwhile, I play gatekeeper and keep ‘em busy and outta your hair.”

Gaara knew Jody meant the employees, the customers, his siblings, and everyone in between. Jody would be Gaara’s stone wall, his shield, and, if necessary, his machine gun.

“Thank you.”

Looking back on the exchange now, Gaara didn’t know how much Jody understood, but he was certain it was more than Gaara actually did. In fact, as the days passed and he barricaded himself in his house and the shop’s office, he got that awful feeling that the entire world was in on secrets and subplots and it left Gaara out in the wintry cold of incomprehension. That sort of feeling used to happen all the time before the meds were there to round off the edges of the frustration.

Although fat lot of good they were doing on that point _now_. Gaara scowled bitterly and thought once again how the meds were just another form of chain. The kind of chain that didn’t come with a promised – or at least sought after – orgasm or a fucking nice high before a crash and burn.

In fact, the damned meds not only did an amazing job at limiting emotions, (ironic that, Gaara thought, since he was supposed to be _gaining_ an emotional IQ), they also did a spectacular job of limiting Gaara’s life to a series of “Can Dos” and “Cannot Dos.” He could not get high – although, he imposed that rule on himself long before the meds came into the picture. But he also stopped drinking because alcohol and anti-psychotics didn’t really play well together.

The meds came from a man who told him that relationships were definitively in the “Cannot Do” pile, and while Gaara agreed, he also thought that sort of thinking severely limited him. If he was ever going to bloody understand what the hell was going on with him and _that asshole_ , (and over the past few days, Gaara had at least reached the point where he was willing to admit something _was_ going on. Perhaps a something he needed to shoot with a .45, but still – something), then he needed more experience under his belt.

And belts, of course, were another thing right out the window and burning on the “Cannot Do” bonfire. In fact, if Gaara didn’t have a better sense of self – or at least what passed for self-curiosity - Brian would be well on his way to convincing Gaara that his experience with and enjoyment of pain and dominance in the bedroom was just one more unhealthy thing that needed to be “cured.”

With more fucking meds, no doubt.

All the more reason Gaara was damned happy he didn’t tell his shrink about the stabbing incident during his session on Thursday. And one of the many reasons he was seriously considering calling therapy quits. Or at least changing doctors. The only reason he hadn’t until now is that there’d been no catalyst for such a change, and Temari would hear about it. He could hear her slow, patient line of questioning, now, and he was thankful yet again that Jody did an excellent job of stonewalling humanity when Gaara needed it.

But there wasn’t a fence built well enough to keep Gaara away from everyone, and it seemed that he was currently fated to see Kiba at every available opportunity.

And what he’d seen tonight made him feel nine hundred shades of angry, aroused, despondent and desperate.

Pissed at the world, Gaara got up and walked to the instrument panel to check on the Bot and his current playlist for Bliss. The night was done, most of the patrons gone, and the sets were queued to wrap up the Tournament. There was no one upstairs at Bliss, and the only lights were from Gaara’s booth and the glowing blue LED screens behind the bars.

Closing his eyes and sighing, Gaara took a step to the right and looked down at a monitor screen embedded in the instrument panel. The monitor was a good idea, actually – Neji’s suggestion, of course. Since Gaara really couldn’t be two places at once, the tiny camera just over the main entrance of Break allowed the DJ to see what went on below while he spun in Bliss.

If, for example, there was an impromptu show going on, Gaara could use the controls for the Bot to update the song list and transitions if he thought it was necessary. If things looked quiet, he could turn down the volume. The monitor gave him eyes to see the room at large and all the players within.

In the spirit of technology being both a blessing and curse, however, the monitor also allowed Gaara to watch earlier in high-resolution as Kiba strapped Sasuke to a bondage tower and proceeded to flog, punish, and torture the blindfolded-and-gagged man. Naruto watched – as did the rest of the club – from a nearby chair and cropped Sasuke’s dick while Kiba spanked Sasuke with an open hand. Then he unzipped and jerked off onto pale and perfect skin. Gaara squinted at the screen for what felt like hours, unable to tear his eyes away. He was grateful that the Mac ran the sets on autopilot, as he’d be damned if he could do anything else but stare with a dry mouth and clenched fists. It wasn’t until Kiba swiped a finger through his own mess on Sasuke’s hip and wiped it on Sasuke’s cheek that Gaara managed to shiver and turn away in angry, horrified lust.

Draining the last of the cranberry juice, Gaara slammed the glass down next to the monitor. Days spent in contemplation. Thousands of dollars spent on shrinks and meds. Years spent telling himself that living in denial of all relationships was better for everyone involved…

But when actually faced with Kiba, Gaara was at a complete loss as to what he felt or wanted.

Gaara bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and found himself right back at the beginning of what he thought of as The Vicious Cycle of the Fucking Inuzuka.

“Enough,” Gaara snarled quietly to himself. He hoped that spinning tonight would be a reprieve from the mental torture. Days on end of the same ruts offered no more insights, and Gaara found himself exhausted from dealing with his own brain.

Add that exhaustion to the lingering heat from the scene he got to watch and Gaara was well and truly ready to get home and hide in bed for a while.

Turning, Gaara unplugged his headset and wrapped the cord around his hand. He looped the cord off and hung the earphones on a hook in front of the panel. Gaara looked at the monitor down in Break one last time and saw a mostly-empty room before he turned the damned thing off with a firm flick of a switch. Gaara shoved a notebook into his bag, stepped to grab his empty glass, and just as his fingers reached for the dirty barware, Kiba appeared.

On some level, Gaara knew this was coming. But even so, the sight of him walking slowly toward the booth wearing leather pants and a snug, black shirt was enough to make Gaara’s heart start to pound.

Gods but he hated that reaction. Kiba just made him _feel_ entirely too much, and it, for lack of better word, sucked.

Gaara’s hand fell to his side, and he turned to follow Kiba’s path to the side of the booth. Kiba stopped a few feet away from the three stairs leading up to the service gate. His arms were crossed, his gaze down on the floor, and his mouth was screwed up to one side in a pensive sneer.

Neither man said a word, and Gaara spent the long seconds debating with himself: tell him to go get fucked? Say nothing and walk away? Jump over the gate, put a knife to his throat and kiss the impossible man just to alleviate the itch?

“So here’s the thing,” Kiba said finally, voice making Gaara jerk in surprise. “I just spent some quality time doin’ what I love best: makin’ bruises and gettin’ off on a pretty lil’ bitch who fuckin’ asked for it.” Kiba met Gaara’s gaze. “But all I could think about was this fucked up rhyme.”

Gaara said nothing, but he grew more intent. Kiba was doing what he did best: shocking Gaara. Kiba took a step closer and sighed, arms uncrossing and thumbs hooking into the pockets of his pants.

“I got a thing for rhymes. I do this show, see, I'm a…” He paused. “Ya know? Don’t matter. Point is, all I could think was: ‘There once was a guy who had a little lie, tattooed to the left on his forehead. But he knew no good, even when he should, and he was bad enough to be horrid.’”

Gaara knew the original verse, of course, about the girl with a curl across her forehead. It was one of his old nanny’s favorites. And he gripped the edge of the instrument panel to steady himself; he could almost hear the beat of bleeding angel’s wings.

_Breathe…don’t kill him and just breathe._

Kiba snorted and shook his head, mostly to himself, Gaara thought. “I know: stupid, right? But it’s like I can’t get it outta my mind. And I knew you were here – music was too good downstairs t’be anybody else. So I thought…ya know…” Kiba smiled warmly at Gaara, and it made his insides flip.

“No, I don’t,” Gaara said, voice raspy.

“’a course,” Kiba chuckled. “Beware da River Nile; full a’things with teeth.”

“…what?” Gaara asked, not following.

“Nothin’,” Kiba said, shaking his head. “Well, I thought I’d come up. Say ‘hi.’ See how ya been.”

Gaara’s molars ached and he forced his jaw to relax. “Fine.”

Kiba tilted his head to one side. The man had an unwavering stare that challenged even Gaara’s. “Ya think ‘bout me?”

“I fucking stabbed you.” Gaara felt the need to point this out as an obvious indicator of how he felt, what he thought, and to be an indirect if vague answer to the question.

“Yeah, well…I’m thinkin’ maybe that’s yer equivalent of a love bite.” Kiba held up his healing hand – Gaara saw the stitched wound with intense clarity – and flexed it.

“A love…” Gaara blew out a tiny puff of air and realized he was stiff from holding himself so still. “You’re insane.”

“Ya said that already. And by the way, Kettle, I’m Pot – have we met?” Kiba ascended two of the steps up to the booth and rested his hands on the service gate. Gaara backed up before getting a grip on himself and standing firm. It took Gaara a second to get the reference, and when he did, he scowled.

“Yer face is gonna freeze if ya keep doin’ that, sweetheart,” Kiba said, eyes shining even in the dim light.

“What do I have to do to make you understand that I’m not interested?” Gaara asked.

“But ya are interested.”

“No, I’m not.” Gaara saw a little red around the edges of his vision. Damn this asshole and his constant self-confidence.

“Yer lyin’.”

Gaara’s backside hit the railing around the raised booth, making him realize he was backing up. He hated himself with intense purity at that moment, and his eyes were so wide in disbelief at his reaction and this situation, he thought they might bug out of his head. “I’m not fucking lying, you arrogant prick!”

“Yeah ya are. And it ain’t arrogance.” Kiba hopped the gate with lithe grace and stood inside the booth with a wide stance and crossed arms. He tilted his head back as though scenting in the air. “I jus’ know when people like me s’all. It’s like…I can smell it.” Kiba grinned – dangerous and dark. “And baby, you smell really fuckin’ good.”

Gaara stared at the man through a maelstrom of conflicting emotion. He felt trapped and pinned, which was crazy. Gaara was on the other end of the spectrum from damsel in fucking distress, but his hands gripped the metal pole at his back and his legs shook from adrenaline and anger. He was out of words: he’d told Kiba to fuck off, to leave him alone, that he wasn’t interested; that he’d kill him, stab him, (again) and rip his balls off if he got too close. Nothing worked.

And it all wouldn’t be so bad if Kiba were _wrong_. But, of course, the worst thing was that even if Gaara was too upset at this asshole for rocking his careful, controlled, and ironic world, he was also --

_Interested._

\--curious. It was the most he could admit to himself, but it was enough to make him lose sleep at night.

When Gaara remained silent, Kiba smiled and licked his lips, looking like he’d won the fight. Gaara made a low noise, and Kiba chuckled.

“Here’s what I know,” Kiba said calmly, taking a step closer. “Ya want me. And ya really fuckin’ hate that. I got theories on the why part, but ya don’t wanna hear ‘em. And I don’t really feel like explainin’ ‘em right now, either.”

Gaara met Kiba’s eyes with an unflinching gaze made of icebergs covering molten lava.

“An’ I want you. In all sorts a’ ways.” Kiba smiled and took another step closer. His hands dropped to his sides, palms open. “I think ya need more ‘n yer ever willin’ t’admit.”

Gaara’s vision flashed red. “You don’t know me. Stop assuming you do.”

Kiba shrugged one shoulder. “Sure babe. Anythin’ ya say.” He smiled again and his boot made a hollow noise on the floor. He was close enough that Gaara could smell cologne – something spicy and delicious, Gaara admitted with much chagrin.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m not gonna give up. One way or another, I’ll be ‘round until you or that gigantic body guard a’yers shoots me dead. It’d upset me more that it might come t’that, but I think you might be worth dyin’ over.”

For all sorts of reasons those words made Gaara press harder into the railing. He lost his breath and his mouth went dry. Damn this man.

_Damn. Him._

“But right now, I need somethin’ from you – and it’s easy,” Kiba said quickly. “I’m gonna either come closer or walk away. And ya get to choose which it’ll be.”

Gaara’s heart did a dive down into his stomach and his shoulders rocked in a tiny shiver. It occurred to him then that he was either entirely more transparent than he ever thought or this man might just be crazily insightful. Either way, Kiba seemed to know exactly what to say, and he had Gaara’s attention and curiosity.

“To make me disappear tonight, you say: ‘Go away for now, please, Kiba.’”

Gaara’s expression darkened at that. Kiba just smiled and Gaara noticed that his voice was a little clearer of accent again.

“But if you want me closer,” Kiba’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “All ya got to do is close your eyes.”

Heart hammering, Gaara remained silent. He didn’t know what his face betrayed, but Kiba’s expression grew sympathetic as he clasped his hands in front of him and waited. He looked like he could stand there all night, and Gaara swallowed.

This was hell. He’d struggled for days trying to figure out what he wanted, and it all seemed so overly complicated when faced now with this basic choice. Kiba stripped away all the bullshit and now it was simple; the way Gaara preferred things. Get more or delay longer. Face the music now or face it later.

And what, exactly, would Kiba do if he got closer?

Gaara had no idea, and in a shocking bit of honest self-discovery he realized he hadn’t felt this thrilled about the unknown since his days back at Haze.

Thoughts and options swirled and laughed maniacally until Gaara thought he would scream. The scene earlier played in his mind on a vicious loop, and the heat he’d felt while he watched played havoc upon his reason. Unbidden and torturous the thud of lust stemming from the violence that Gaara felt at the shop rose again along with the taste of blood. And now there was this simple choice…and the constant anger…because of the fear…

_But he smells like cloves, strawberries, and leather. And his eyes look clear in the blue light._

“Fuck,” Gaara said very, very quietly.

And with a hiccoughing breath he shut his eyes.

For a terrifying second or two, absolutely nothing happened. That was real torture – and Gaara thought that, no, the earlier indecision wasn’t hell: the waiting was. Reality hung suspended on a rack, and Gaara thought he’d made the wrong move. This was stupid, he needed to think, he needed to get out and away and –

Something brushed his lips; warm, wet, and light. Gaara sucked in air through his nose but kept his eyes closed, and he was rewarded with another soft kiss, this one lingering longer on his bottom lip. Of all the things in the entire world that Gaara expected of Kiba, such a gentle kiss wasn’t even on the list. It surprised him, lips parting in a quiet gasp for air and sanity, and he felt the faintest brush of fingertip touch against his cheek. The mouth covering Gaara’s pressed more firmly, and a hand slid around the back of Gaara’s neck. Another one clamped around Gaara’s right wrist, but Gaara had no time to think about that because Kiba’s tongue was suddenly assaulting his own in a swift and sure exploration.

Kiba tasted like strawberry smoke, and Gaara kissed him back with a soft noise of greed. In his mind, he begged for more, and his body lit up like a city at night. Every inch of his skin felt over-stimulated and eager; in a rush he could feel his palms slick with nervous sweat on the metal at his back, the faint brush of Kiba’s shirt against his own, the floor beneath his feet, and the hot, wet glide of lips and mouth and tongue. His cock stirred and grew hard in his jeans, and Gaara could have cried in sheer joy as the voices and choices ceased, his mind finding some peace.

Gaara felt a sharp tooth scrape along his lip. The hand on the back of his neck flexed, the pressure around his wrist intensified, and in a fast and brutal move, Gaara found himself with his back to Kiba and his stomach pressed against the bar around the booth. Gaara’s right arm was bent behind his back, Kiba’s hand still on the wrist and putting a light pressure and twist on the joint. Not enough to hurt – but plenty enough to warn.

“ _Nnn-ahh,_ ” Gaara panted, eyes opening wide and then wider as Kiba’s hand slid with ease down the front of his pants and boxers and wrapped around his cock. That was even more shocking than the kiss, and Gaara couldn’t do a damned thing as brain struggled to catch up to body.

“Mmm,” Kiba purred in Gaara’s ear as his hand gently squeezed. “Now that’s nice.” Kiba’s hand shifted, exploring more than pleasuring. “Hard,” Kiba husked against the side of Gaara’s face. Kiba’s fingers shifted and his thumb tortured the head and made Gaara’s legs shake. “Wet.” He grunted and stroked Gaara once. “I knew you’d have a perfect dick. But seein’s believin’.”

Gaara’s brain scrambled for purchase, lust screaming, body aching. He struggled as Kiba’s hand slid out and started undoing Gaara’s pants. The pressure on his wrist increased by a tiny fraction, and Gaara stopped moving.

“Let go,” Gaara gasped as his dick was freed to the air. Kiba’s body shifted and pressed him harder against the rail, and Gaara could tell Kiba studied him as Kiba slowly closed his fist around Gaara’s length one finger at a time and stroked. The pleasure was nearly bizarre in its onslaught.

“No,” Kiba replied. “Hold still or hurt, babe. Your choice.”

“Fuck you,” Gaara hissed and struggled. Immediately his wrist flared with pain and his arm went numb. He gasped as his torso pressed hard into the rail, the push just under his diaphragm forcing air out of his lungs.

“Later, bitch,” Kiba husked. “Right now, I’m a little busy.”

A retort died on Gaara’s tongue as the hand on his shaft shifted skin with experimental pressure and pull. Gaara made a frustrated noise but stopped struggling. Immediately the pain in his wrist eased by fractions of degrees, and Gaara shook his head to try to clear the fog that seemed to pad his mind.

“You gotta pretty cock,” Kiba praised, his head leaning and pressing against Gaara’s face, lips moving next to Gaara’s cheek. Kiba’s hand slid down Gaara’s shaft to palm his balls, middle finger pressing behind them as he squeezed. Gaara shuddered.

“Ooh, like that?” Kiba whispered. He squeezed again and Gaara hissed a curse as his body shivered.

“Tell me ya like it.”

Gaara’s eyes shut, and he turned his head away from Kiba. But his hips bucked seeking sensation, and pre-cum oozed from his cock.

“Fuck I love you stubborn,” Kiba said and kissed Gaara’s jaw. His hand pulled away entirely and Gaara’ listened to Kiba work up saliva and spit into the palm of his hand.

“Shit,” Gaara whispered, and he froze in anticipation of how a slick hand would feel on his skin.

“Ask me,” Kiba said, nose pressing into the side of Gaara’s face. Stubble scratched and rubbed, and Gaara could feel Kiba’s smile.

“Fuck you.”

Kiba pressed on Gaara’s wrist and Gaara called out. His brain stuttered for a second into white noise; the combination of growling voice, gentle touch, and pain threatened to annihilate thought and resistance and sense of self.

“Ask. Me.”

Gaara’s mouth opened and he struggled to find words. He licked his lips. “Stroke me, dammit,” Gaara finally managed to gasp. Then, through gritted teeth: “Please.”

“Better,” Kiba said, easing up on Gaara’s wrist and hand meeting heated flesh. Gaara moaned as Kiba started working him with fluid strokes. It felt so good. Everything did: the bar hampering his air, the strain on his elbow, the rough cheek on his face. Better than the dreams that haunted his sleep. Better than images conjured by curiosity. Imagination didn’t know that Kiba’s hands were a little rough; calloused. His memory couldn’t supply the sheer heady delight of the growling voice in his ear. And his lips still tingled from the unexpected kiss that made him just –

“Want,” Gaara breathed, not knowing he spoke until Kiba replied.

“I know.”

Gaara panted and his body rolled with the strokes, hips jerking. He had no idea how long it went on, but when Kiba licked up his neck and bit at the skin behind his ear, Gaara moaned like a wanton whore in heat.

“Fuck yeah,” Kiba said, delighted. “That’s what I want. Make ya hard, make ya want it, make ya beg.”

Gaara bit his lip.

Kiba rumbled a chuckle. “Don’t come, yet.”

Gaara’s eyes opened, and he panted, face forming a grimace of pleasure and concentration.

“Don’t come,” Kiba repeated.

“Fuck off,” Gaara snarled, eyes squeezing shut and head going back onto Kiba’s shoulder.

“Damn that’s hot. Tell me ya like this.”

“Get fucked,” Gaara gasped, thrusting up to meet Kiba’s hand. The growling command to delay release still rung in Gaara’s ears, and for some insane reason he found himself trying to obey. The hand on his cock was ruthless in its pressure, but the speed slowed. Gaara whined in frustration, the end of the sound nearly a snarl.

“Tell me. Ya fuckin’ like this. Bitch.”

“I said –" Gaara began.

Kiba snarled and gripped Gaara’s dick in a painful grasp. His other hand pushed down on Gaara’s wrist and pulled up at the same time, the pain lancing hot then cold down his arm. Gasping, Gaara’s mouth fell open, and he struggled with sincerity not to come. Harsh breathing filled the air, and Gaara’s head dug into Kiba’s shoulder.

Kiba’s teeth bit into Gaara’s cheek none-too-gently, and Gaara whimpered at the feel of sharp teeth pressing into his skin for a split second.

“Tell me ya fuckin’ like it, or I’m gonna chain you to this goddamned railing with yer dick out and leave ya here, ya little cunt.”

The voice sounded nearly inhuman, and Gaara shuddered. The assault on his body, the sound of threat and violence in his ears, and the hands on him unraveled the last pieces of Gaara’s willpower. His jaw ached with tension, and air burst from his lips in a pant as his body forced him to breathe.

“I like it,” Gaara gasped. And the three words seemed to break a dam. “Kiba,” he groaned, and his eyes slid shut as his body threatened to collapse. But Kiba maneuvered them so the rail and his hand around Gaara’s wrist held him up. The pain in his arm stopped, but the pressure remained, and the strokes increased in speed.

Kiba made a rumbling sound – something low in his chest. His hand twisted on Gaara’s dick: up, over the head, harsh pull down and then back up. Then again, only faster.

“ _Shit_ !” Gaara spat. “Yeah…like it…God, _fuck_ , yes…”

“You like my hand on yer dick?” Kiba asked, voice still low but faintly analytical.

“Yeah,” Gaara breathed, head rolling against Kiba’s shoulder.

“You like me pinning ya to the rail?” Kiba pressed Gaara a fraction harder, and Gaara made a wheezing sound that was half laugh and all heat.

“Fuck. Yes.” Gaara bucked hard into the hand on him.

_Oh god…good…so…please, oh…_

“And this?” Kiba put a gentle pressure on Gaara’s wrist again, and it burned and held and controlled.

Gaara made a keening noise. “ _Fuck_ …Kiba…” Then, a whisper: “Please.”

The single word trailed off into a soft noise of need and then desperation as Kiba’s hand began to work him with a ruthless rhythm, nearly horrible and painful in its demand on Gaara’s body. Noises spilled from the Gaara's lips, and he shivered; eyes dilated, heat thrumming in his gut, orgasm mere seconds away.

It felt fucking _amazing._

Kiba grinned against Gaara’s face. “Then if ya like it so fuckin’ much, come already, slut.” Kiba did something to Gaara’s dick that was perfection in the slick-slide-drag, and he felt just the slightest dig of fingernail.

Gaara stiffened first in shock of the sensation and command, and then in amazement as he cried out and his body obeyed the words while his mind reeled. Pleasure shot along his cock and up his spine, and long jets of white release spilled onto the floor beside the booth. Gaara panted and rocked with the orgasm: the pleasure so swift and sudden it hurt. Kiba held him still and upright, hand ceasing to stroke and squeezing gently instead in time to Gaara’s thudding pulse.

Panting filled Gaara’s ears, and it took a second to realize it was him making all the noise. Kiba released Gaara’s spent dick, and he wiped his hand on his own pants before moving it between Gaara’s body and the railing. The other hand let go of Gaara’s wrist, rubbed at the abused joint in a way that released tension and pain, and then he smoothed sweaty red hair behind Gaara’s ear. His breathing was mostly steady and even, body calm and sturdy behind Gaara’s.

Gaara took a moment to hate him for that.

“That was perfect, Gaara,” Kiba said softly.

“…don’t need your praise,” Gaara said between sucks of air.

Kiba laughed and kissed Gaara’s cheek. “Yeah. Ya do.”

Gaara was going to reply to that in kind, but Kiba’s hand covered his mouth. “Gonna go now. Want to remember you just like this: dick shiny and softening, smell of yer cum and sweat, way ya sound breathing like that.” Kiba sighed and his hands slid to squeeze Gaara’s hips. “Gonna go fuck my own hand and think about that.”

Gaara found himself without comment but with plenty of mental images.

Lips pressed again to Gaara’s cheek, and Kiba pushed away from Gaara. Immediately Gaara felt the sweat on his back start to cool. He didn’t turn to watch, but he heard Kiba leave the booth and then, after a moment, heard the door leading out into the garden open and then shut.

With a long exhale of air, Gaara turned, put his back to the instrument panel, and crumpled to the floor. He managed to get cock and clothing back in order, and he sat with his arms resting on spread knees while his breathing returned to normal. Blissfully, his brain still seemed to be on mute, and he just wanted to enjoy that for the time being.

Gaara sat there feeling relaxed and nicely dazed for an indeterminate amount of time before a noise made his eyes open and body twist in alarm, heart suddenly pounding in his chest again.

Kimimaro stood next to the booth with a mop, and he carefully cleaned the floor with lowered gaze. He wore nothing but a loose pair of cotton pants, a carefully neutral expression, and a raging hard-on. Making quick work of the floor, Kimi put the mop back in the bucket. One hand steadying the mop handle, Kimi bowed to Gaara.

“Apologies for disturbing you, Red.” Kimi kept his gaze lowered. “Master Kiba often leaves one in need of reflection.”

Gaara blinked and silently agreed, even though he felt like a kid caught with his hand in a candy jar. He managed to nod, body tense.

“I’m happy to take care of the club, should you wish to leave.” Kimi’s gaze moved up and didn’t quite meet Gaara’s eyes. “And I consider it an honor to maintain the privacy of others who have my respect.”

Gaara sighed, thought dark thoughts of the Universe, and got to his feet. He grabbed his bag.

“Thank you, Red,” Kimi said with another bow.

The thanks was confusing, but Gaara pushed that thought away. It was easy to do right now, the lassitude still upon him. He wondered how long that would last.

Unable to think of anything to say and trying not to think about anything at all, Gaara turned and left.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:Notes from your Demented Tour Guide!
> 
> ∞ Oh, Kimi… Darling Kimi.  
> 
> ∞ The original nursery rhyme that Gaara references and Kiba rewrites is actually a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, often mistaken and used as a nursery rhyme.
> 
> The poem:  
> #835 - There Was A Little Girl  
> There was a little girl,  
> Who had a little curl,  
> Right in the middle of her forehead.  
> When she was good,  
> She was very good indeed,  
> But when she was bad she was horrid.
> 
> The "Nursery Rhyme" - often different:  
> There was a little girl  
> Who had a little curl  
> Right in the middle of her forehead  
> And when she was good,  
> She was very, very good  
> But when she was bad,  
> She was horrid.
> 
> ∞The Scene that Gaara sees on the monitor while spinning up in Bliss can be found in the story, "Breaking the Rules."
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Serenity - Godsmack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvt-q7lna9I).All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> Where do we go when we just don't know  
> And how do we relight the flame when it's cold  
> Why do we dream when our thoughts mean nothing  
> And when will we learn to control  
> Tragic visions slowly stole my life  
> Tore away everything  
> Cheating me out of my time  
> I'm the one who loves you  
> No matter wrong or right  
> And every day I hold you  
> I hold you with my inner child
> 
> ∞ Be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love and mop buckets,  
> ♥Dee


	13. Chapter 13

“Somebody here to see you, boss,” Jody said as he peered around the doorframe into Gaara’s office.

Looking up from a crossword puzzle, Gaara stared at Jody with an expression that must have come as close to abject terror as Gaara ever managed.

“Boss?” Jody asked, concerned.

Shutting his eyes briefly, Gaara could almost feel hands on his body in rough caresses, and his heart was in his gut as he scowled. “Who is it?” he barked, glowering.

“Some woman, boss. Said she knows you from the club.” Jody paused and stepped into the office. “You want me to tell her to move along?”

Gaara’s shoulders slumped in both relief and disappointment. And he felt like shooting something because of the first and hiding under his desk because of the second. In the two days since Kiba jacked him off in the DJ booth at Bliss, Gaara had managed to feel everything in his limited emotional range and a few new things besides. The anxiety that made his mouth go dry and his heart flutter was definitely new.

And so was the primal urge to palm his own cock every time he thought about Kiba.

Gaara resisted the temptation. Mostly.

“Which club?” Gaara asked, leaning forward, elbows banging down on the desk and head falling forward into his hands.

“Break, I think, though she didn’t really say.”

Jody trailed off and Gaara racked his brain trying to think of a woman at Break who would seek him out at his shop to speak to him for some reason.

“Boss?”

“What?”

“You don’t look so good, boss. Maybe I should –"

“I’m fine.” Gaara’s hands clutched his hair and he spoke down to the desk. He tried not to see the gouged hole in the wood from violence so recently inflicted.

“…right.” Even Gaara didn’t miss the several notes of disbelief in Jody’s tone.

“Send her in.”

“Okay.” Jody obediently left, and Gaara focused on the next clue on the crossword.

_Contrary to all reason._

The word was ten letters long and started with “Imp” and ended with “able.”

Gaara truly thought that just about summed it up.

A polite cough made Gaara look and blink at the figure in his doorway; a figure which Gaara immediately identified as male, not female, but only because he’d seen said figure naked or nearly nude more than once at Break.

“Haku.” Gaara managed to keep a civil tongue, and he swallowed surprise as the lovely young man stepped into the office. He wore a deep blue, silky-looking shirt that was off one slender, pale shoulder. The shirt was long and tunic-like, and he’d secured a black belt wrapped twice around his narrow hips over the fabric. Snug jeans with strategically placed rips covered his long legs, and he wore open-toed, flat sandals with straps that covered most of his feet. His toenails were black, Gaara noted, as were his nails, and his long, thick hair – shades darker than Neji’s – swung loosely down his back to his waist.

Haku nodded his head slightly with a small smile and then turned to push the door nearly closed, looking over his bare shoulder as though asking silent permission to complete the act. Gaara’s hands clasped in front of his face and braced his chin, and he jerked his head once to indicate privacy was fine with him. Gaara didn’t really know Haku, but the facts that assimilated in his brain did not, in any way, scream “threat.”

Instead, they whispered, “Prey” and at least one reminded Gaara that he’d not had lunch.

“Master Gaara,” Haku said in his light voice. “I’m sorry to bother you at your place of business.” Dark eyes that spoke of fathomless calm studied Gaara, and he tipped his head in acknowledgment of the words. He didn’t bother to correct Haku on his terminology; Gaara suspected that Haku would call Gaara “master” up to the point Gaara decided to beat such bad habits out of the boy.

Which would, in effect, only support the argument that the terminology was somewhat correct, Gaara mused, happy as the anxiety over the possibility of another Kiba visit faded. He didn’t bother to sort that out or even categorize it. The Kiba Problem was now so large and so extreme that Gaara didn’t know what to do except try to breathe beneath the weight of it.

“May I approach you?” Haku asked after a long moment of silence.

“Yes,” Gaara answered, eyes curious as Haku glided over to sit in a becoming fashion on the edge of the chair across from Gaara.

“I’m here on errand,” Haku explained, and Gaara liked how softly he spoke and the way his eyes dropped Gaara’s gaze now that Haku was seated. Liking those things sent flickers of confusion through Gaara as a husky voice snarled in his memory, demanded things of both Gaara and his body, and made him want to tremble.

“Yes?” Gaara inquired, silencing the memories that now bordered on fantasy. And last he checked, Gaara didn’t really _do_ fantasies; it was just one more new thing since Saturday. Or since Kiba, really. Gaara once again tried to shove the irritating Kiba from his mind and focus on the man across his desk.

“On behalf of Master Kiba,” said Haku.

Gaara stiffened in his chair with enough of a jerk to make the metal creak. Haku smiled down at the floor, one small hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Forgive my impertinence, Master Gaara,” Haku murmured. “It’s just that he said you would respond in such a manner.”

“Did he,” Gaara said, making the words dull and rhetorical. It didn’t surprise him that Kiba could guess such things: the man was obviously becoming an expert on Gaara, much to Gaara's eternal snarling malice. He thought about telling Haku to go away, to go back and tell Kiba he could go play in chemical waste; considered telling the lovely Haku that Gaara wanted nothing to do with Kiba's damned errand.

But all those things felt old and false, even in Gaara’s confusion, and instead he found himself leaning forward slightly as curiosity flared in his mind and his cock stirred in his jeans. Gaara grimaced in discomfort at his body’s reaction, and he shifted in the chair trying not to think of all the ways he wanted to ease that particular itch. “What is it?” he asked.

Haku shifted sideways and, with a gesture that was stunningly male for such a feminine individual, he reached into his back pocket and withdrew a small, white envelope. Carefully he placed it on the desk and slid it towards Gaara with one finger, removing the digit when his arm reached full extension.

“He asked me to give you this and explain his actions.”

Saying nothing, Gaara looked at the envelope like it might self-destruct at any moment.

“Master Kiba wishes to communicate with you, but doesn’t want to risk making you or the gentleman that led me back to your office angry,” Haku said reasonably, obviously taking Gaara’s silence as an indicator that he could move forward with Kiba’s plan.

“And he didn’t want to wait until schedules aligned at Break or bother you when you were spinning. So…” Haku smiled, eyes focused somewhere near Gaara’s shoulder. “He wrote you a note and asked me to deliver it.”

“Job done, then,” Gaara said. He hesitated in a moment of social ineptitude: should he thank the pretty boy for delivering the message? Or tell him to relay to Kiba that he could take his notes and shove them up his ass? Maybe both?

But even as Gaara thought about sending back a snide remark, his fingers nearly burned in their desire to touch the piece of paper on the desk; pick it up, open it, and see what came next.

_…what do I want?_

Such a simple question without a simple answer, and once again, Gaara found himself at a loss. He felt like hands pressed down on his shoulders, and the weight made him tired.

“Not quite, Master Gaara,” Haku said softly.

Blue-green eyes snapped up to look at Haku and met the boy’s startled gaze. Gaara had nearly forgotten the guy was in the room. “What else?” Gaara demanded.

“I’m to take back a reply.”

“No,” Gaara said immediately, and anxiety washed through him.

“A written reply,” Haku said as though he didn’t hear Gaara.

“No,” Gaara repeated, eyes narrowing.

Haku looked mildly distressed and crossed his legs, fingers lacing together over one knee. “I’m sorry. I can’t leave until I have one.”

“This is my place of business,” Gaara said, trying for calm and mostly succeeding. “I can have you thrown out.”

“Yes,” Haku agreed amiably, head tilting up and eyes considering. “But then I’d wait in the parking lot. Or at the gate of your home. Just up the hill, isn’t it?” he asked politely.

Gaara blinked. “Why?”

“Because Master Kiba promised to help me with a personal matter. And I agreed to this in exchange.” Haku looked at Gaara, meeting his eyes, and Gaara saw a bottomless well of determination. He recognized the look as it was something he’d seen in his own mirror.

“And I do not break my promises nor go back on my word. No matter what sort of discomfort it might cause me.” Haku sniffed once and made it sound delicate.

Gaara looked at Haku for a long moment, and neither man wavered. Then he looked down at the note, sighed, and snatched it off the desk. He tried to organize his thoughts as he reached for his letter opener, paused, and remembered it was no longer on the desk after its last and bloody use. The memory made Gaara’s hands shake, eyes glancing again at the desk as he tried not to think about himself pressed against a wall…or a metal bar… and he fidgeted with the envelope to hide the reactions.

Gaara hated Kiba. Sort of. Maybe. He wanted Kiba. Gaara hated that he gave in to Kiba at the club, and he had to close his eyes as heat lanced through him at the memory of what Kiba had done to him in Gaara’s booth. He didn’t know why giving in or not giving in was so complicated. A hissing voice told him it was only physical, and such things couldn’t touch Gaara. Another voice – this one male, low, and with a drawl that dragged over every vowel - told him he knew better than that.

Everything was shades of confusion, heat, fear, and curiosity, but he tilted his head and looked down at Kiba’s note and thought that adding one more shade of shadow to the mix truly couldn’t make things any worse.

Smiling bitterly at those famous last words, Gaara ripped open the envelope and removed an evenly-folded piece of legal paper. Gaara opened the page, entirely too aware of Haku’s eyes on him, and Gaara had to read the words twice before they registered.

_Is this okay?_

Gaara turned the paper over to make sure there was nothing on the back – there wasn’t. All this fuss over three words? Three extremely ambiguous words, at that. He frowned.

“Should I wait outside while you write?” Haku asked.

“I don’t care,” Gaara said absently, mulling over the note and shocking himself as he began to formulate an answer. He grabbed a pen, clicked it useable, and stared as the tip hovered over the page. A swell of emotion – mostly anger and confusion – threatened to suck Gaara under, and to fight it off, he started to scribble on the paper, not caring if what he wrote was legible or well-formulated.

_Nothing is okay. You won’t leave me alone. I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know what to do about that. I don’t know if I should do something about that. What you do to me is not okay. You’re confusing._

Gaara stopped writing and found that his breathing was quicker than it should be. He stared at the honesty on the wrinkled page in front of him and inhaled slowly.

_But if you mean is writing okay, I cannot kill you if you’re not here._

Rejecting the idea of adding, “But I can find out where you live” to the bottom of the note on the grounds that it should be obvious, Gaara refolded the note and bent to yank open a desk drawer. He grabbed a plain envelope, shoved the paper inside, and sealed it shut with his tongue.

“Take it and go,” Gaara ordered as he slid the envelope to Haku, who caught it deftly.

“Thank you, Master Gaara.” Haku stood and quietly took his leave, and Gaara’s head thudded against the back of his chair while his hands gripped the armrests.

The next day Haku returned, and Gaara looked up from the counter as the bell on the front door jangled. Jody stood next to the shelves at the front of the shop helping a customer, and his eyebrows nearly met his hairline as he looked at Gaara even while still explaining the wonders of a cleaning product to the Mercedes owner.

Haku crossed to the counter, set down another envelope, and then turned to take a seat near the front window. Today he wore a long skirt, loose shirt, and brown boots, and he picked up a magazine to read while one foot swung in a jerky rhythm. Gaara looked at Jody and the big man nodded as Gaara grabbed the note and went back to his office, shutting the door. Jody would staff the counter while Gaara read Kiba’s note.

And Gaara tried not to notice how he shook slightly all over as he tore into the new envelope and quickly unfolded the pages covered in black ink that he found inside.

The first two words were “Thank You,” and Gaara put the letter flat on the desk when it trembled too much to read easily.

_You are the first person or thing I’ve ever really wanted._

Gaara stopped breathing. In thirteen words Kiba managed to annihilate any and all expectations Gaara had of the note, (and Gaara didn’t know until that very moment that he had expectations in the first place). It wasn’t playful or aggravating or ambiguous at all. Instead, as Gaara scanned through the letter once, he found it to be serious, well-written, and to the point. Gaara closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and then read the note a second time with wide eyes and parted lips.

_My parents started a bunch of vet clinics. Stuff for Paws – the big pet store chain – signed them up to put a shop in all their stores. They wanted me to be a vet, like them, but I can’t stand it when the animals hurt and can’t tell me what’s wrong. And I hate it when they die. So they wanted me to be a businessman, but I don’t like money. Too much of it makes people worry all the damned time. Too little is harder, but the decisions are simpler._

_My parents always worried about me. I got into trouble a lot as a kid. Got into fights, broke hearts and didn’t care. I joked around all the time. Had fun but didn’t want anything or anybody too close cause I really didn’t think anything mattered. Including me._

_In high school I picked a fight with a kid named Naruto. Prep kid from private school. He kicked my ass, but then he introduced me to his friends. I met Neji, Shikamaru, Sasuke, Hinata, Shino - all of the Academy kids. Ended up transferring for the last two years of high school. Things got better, I stopped fighting so much, but nothing fit for me. I wasn’t brilliant. I wasn’t the best at much of anything except making people laugh and talking a good game. My parents didn’t like that I wasn’t heading anywhere they wanted me to go. And they didn’t like that I didn’t really care._

_Then came radio. I always liked kinky shit. I always liked sex and shocking people. I did some theater at the Academy and met your brother. He hooked me up with a friend of his at a radio station, and I did an internship there one summer. I loved it. I got my own equipment and did short wave casts. Eventually that led to me getting my own show, getting thrown out of the studio and then called back, but that’s not really important._

_Cause even when I cared about radio and making my show, I never saw it as life changing. I watched Neji work with his uncle, and that shit was deep. That shit mattered, but it wasn’t for me. But Neji was the one who hooked me up with some friends of his to do some research for my show. They taught me a lot. So did Neji. So did Naruto. And your brother. We had a good nest for freakdom, and we had Neji and his mentors to give us direction._

_But even when Break opened, it didn’t…get me. Nothing ever really has. It’s all been the thing of the moment; whatever works is great. When it stops working, move on._

_Until you._

_I’ve watched you for a long time. I’ve talked to people about you. The more I saw and the more I heard the more I wanted. It’s not easy for me through probably not like it’s hard on you. But I worry that you mean it when you say you want me to fuck off. But then I look at you and see something in your eyes that makes me think I should stay. Like Naruto stayed even when I would scream at him. Like they all stayed, even when I was a fucking dick. I meant it when I said you’re worth dying over. You’re the only thing that’s mattered enough to me to stick it out. Ever. In my life._

_And I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care if you stab me with a damned broadsword next time._

_Now tell me something real about you. Please._

Gaara gingerly removed his fingertips from the pages and leaned back in his chair, eyes wide and gaze unfocused. The desk and office grew blurry as Gaara merely sat, unsure and uncertain and unwilling to deny the impact of Kiba’s words though they still bewildered him.

Time passed and Gaara jerked when a knock came at the door. He didn’t answer, and kept his dry eyes on the desk and on pages full of surprisingly neat handwriting.

“Boss?”

Gaara didn’t look up to acknowledge Jody, but he heard Jody take a few steps into the room and shut the door. He followed Jody’s footfall pattern as Jody walked around the desk, and Gaara saw Jody kneel next to his chair out of the corner of his eye.

“Gaara?” Jody said softly, resting one hand on Gaara’s forearm with a light touch. “What is it?”

“Read,” Gaara said, mouth dry.

“Okay,” Jody agreed, and he stood up to rest one hand on the back of Gaara’s chair as he reached to turn the first page of the letter over so he could do as Gaara asked. Moments full of Jody’s slow, steady breathing passed, and Gaara found himself syncing his breath to his friend’s.

When Jody finished the last page, he sighed and stepped to crouch again beside Gaara’s chair. “Maybe I shouldn’t ‘a thrown him so hard outta the shop,” Jody drawled, considering. “Rattled somethin’ loose, I suspect.”

Gaara swallowed.

“You want me to get rid of the letter, boss?”

Gaara frowned, a tiny ridge forming between his brows.

“Okay, then.” Jody put his hand back on Gaara’s arm and squeezed. Gaara’s eyes darted to the side to analyze the gentle grip and think about the same five digits wrapped around necks or lead pipes or Gaara’s dick.

“It sounds like he’s bein’ pretty sincere,” Jody said cautiously, and Gaara could feel Jody’s eyes scanning his face, but Gaara just couldn’t meet the other man’s gaze. He felt…caught. Sometimes when Gaara was so tired from a bout of insomnia, he could just stare into space for hours. It started out as merely something easy to do with eyes that would not shut and ended up feeling like a trance.

Kiba’s letter made him feel just like that: it was a train-wreck of a trance and Gaara didn’t know if he wanted to look away or dive onto the tracks.

“That pretty girl’s out front waitin’ on an answer, boss. You want me to tell her none’s comin’ for a while, yet?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Gaara whispered, and finally his eyes snapped to lock onto Jody’s. Whatever the larger man saw there made Jody’s expressive face crumple in sympathy and concern, and he moved closer to Gaara, kneeling. For once Gaara didn’t tell him to stop it or to move away. He felt like his edges were cracking and blistering from an outside source of unyielding heat, and Jody looked like a mirrored shield.

“You wanna write him back?” Jody asked, and Gaara went small and breakable at the incredulous and tender notes in Jody’s words. He jerked his head away and scowled at the desk.

“It’s not a bad thing to want that, boss,” Jody said. “He may be a cocky little man, but he sure writes pretty stuff that makes me think he might actually feel things for you. And that ain’t bad, neither.”

Gaara shut his eyes.

“I don’t. Know what. To say.”

“Tell him something that’s easy, then.”

Gaara’s hands flexed on the chair arms. “Nothing’s easy.”

“I’m easy, ain’t I?” Jody asked and Gaara looked at him. The hazel eyes were kind and the corners were wrinkled in amusement. “Tell him why you ain’t killed me yet and how I got your back.” Jody’s smile faded slightly, and his look grew cunning and echoed expressions from their childhood. “If nothin’ else, it’ll remind the bastard that if he messes with you, there be hell on this earth and in the next waitin’ for him.”

Gaara looked at Jody and thought about the man next to him digging in a trash can for food. He thought about the night Jody met Leon, the lead Son of the Saints, and how Jody didn’t even bat a pretty eye when he was told the right of this particular passage involved a gun and close-range carnage. Gaara remembered…

_“Did who I gotta hurt bother boss?”_

_“Boss?”_

_“Gaara. He’s my boss, sir, none you mind. I respect you and all but it’s his back I got. And if his means yours, then I’m okay with this almighty cause a’ yours.”_

_“Oh he bothered your boss. And me.”_

_“Sir. I think you’re lyin’.”_

_“And I don’t think you care.”_

_“Boss?”_

_“Jody.”_

_“He speakin’ true?”_

In front of Leon and a roomful of Saints, Gaara told the millionth lie of his life: _“Yes.”_

Jody turned and shot a member of the Devil Dogs in the head without another word or thought. Gaara felt calm spread through him while the blood blanketed the concrete, and Jody handed back the gun to Leon and smiled at Gaara.

_“I’m your man, boss.”_

“Jody.” Gaara said the name in the quiet of his office like he’d never said it before, and Jody blinked at him.

“Yeah, boss?”

It was the letter. It was the fact that Gaara’d skipped his pills that morning. It was Kiba, his persistence, the memory of his wounded hand. It was Haku’s gentle voice telling Gaara he would wait. It was thinking that to someone – a man whom Gaara didn’t understand and who surprised and worried him – Gaara apparently mattered. He was worth something to both Kiba and to the man on his knees next to Gaara. Worth different kinds of something; and the differences accounted for varying levels of want or need.

But Gaara felt something twinge and flex inside him as he observed Jody looking at him like he always did: like Jody would do anything to make sure Gaara was okay.

Anything at all.

Gaara reached and put both his hands on either side of Jody’s face and bent to kiss him softly on the lips. Jody, for his part, didn’t pull away or laugh or do much of anything except let Gaara kiss him before he let Jody go to lean back in the chair. Jody blinked several times, quick lids over bright eyes, and then the hazel color started to shine and swim.

“Don’t start that shit,” Gaara said quietly, but the words went tender across his tongue.

“Can’t help it, boss. You done shocked me stupid.”

Gaara considered that. “Not stupid. Sentimental.”

“That, too.” Jody shook his head once and gave Gaara a small smile. “Feels like it did back when you tol’ me we was gonna open the shop.” Jody shook his head and grinned. “So this mean you gonna tell him about me?”

“Yes.” Gaara nodded. “But not because you’re easy. You’re not. You’re one of the hardest things in my life.” Gaara paused and mulled over his words, thinking that Jody was difficult in different ways than Kiba, but the parallels were intriguing. But whereas Jody was a protector, Kiba was a pursuer.

_Which is why he’s in my head and Jody isn’t._

The realization made Gaara slowly blink before he continued. “The hard things are the ones that matter. You’re difficult and…” Gaara looked at the letter with a neutral expression as understanding began to sink and settle. “And this…”

“Ain’t easy, either.”

“Right.”

“Okay,” Jody said, getting up with a sniff. “You write the man back. I think…” Jody sighed, and Gaara thought it sounded resigned. “I think it’s good that you write Mr. Inuzuka. And I’ll go tell the girl to wait.”

“Jody?” Gaara said, lips quirking.

“Yeah, boss?”

“That’s not a girl.”

Jody froze. "Say what, now?"

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Like a Stone - Audioslave](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zdoXgGnKdc).All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> In your house I long to be  
> Room by room patiently  
> I'll wait for you there  
> Like a stone  
> I'll wait for you there  
> Alone
> 
> ∞ Be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love and all the things that ain't easy,  
> ♥Dee


	14. Chapter 14

Gaara set down his pen and flexed his hand, eying the letter in front of him with critical caution. Writing was surprisingly easy for Gaara, as it turned out, and he liked that when he didn’t know what to say he could just wait for the words to arrive instead of making someone uncomfortable with a long silence and blank stare. Licking his lips, Gaara read over the words he wrote to answer Kiba's question:

_This is some of my truth: I met Jody in an alleyway in Midaretakaze, where I was born. I’d been with the Saints for a while. Don’t know how long, but my word was good with them. I liked killing, and I liked how the Saints killed: guns and prayers. Shoot someone, bring back their name, say a prayer at Leon’s altar. Leon’s dead now, too. I read it in the paper a few years ago. I didn’t say a prayer for him. I don’t really believe in anything now that I no longer believe in killing._

_Jody was hungry, and I watched him dig in a trash can for food. I’d been in his position, and I watched him work. But I was there on a mission from the Saints, and soon the Dogs came. The Devil Dogs were our enemies. They liked to do PCP before they went out hunting. It makes you not feel pain. Sometimes it took a lot to kill them._

_One of the Dogs saw Jody and raised a gun. I shot him before he could fire, and I killed one other. The third escaped. Jody looked at me and started crying. He does that when he feels too much. I told him to stop that shit and tried to leave but Jody came with me. Said I had saved his life and now he was mine. I liked that idea but didn’t really get it. But I took him to Leon, Jody became part of our gang, and he’s been with me ever since._

_Everyone tells me I love Jody. I just know he’s got my back._

Unable to think of anything else to say and feeling uneasy about whether or not what he wrote was right, Gaara folded the page and sealed it in an envelope before he could think on it too long. Haku was still in the lobby when Gaara emerged from his office and handed over the note. The pretty man merely nodded and then left without another word, for which Gaara was grateful.

And the next day, Haku appeared again with another note from Kiba:

_Thank you._

_Jody’s good for you, and he is very much with you. Believe me – I’ve got the bruises to prove it._

_Tell me about your family._

The note Gaara wrote back was equally brief:

_Parents dead. Siblings not._

But Kiba was apparently undeterred by Gaara’s terse note as Haku came back the following day with not only a reply, but two jars of homemade strawberry preserves. Apparently Kiba’s mother liked to cook and can, and Kiba thought Gaara would enjoy the flavor.

Other than Jody, the gift marked the first one given Gaara by someone who had been physically intimate with him. And when Jody came in from the shop to find Gaara with his nose buried in sweet-smelling jam, he had to cover his mouth with one wrist and duck back into the shop to have a talk with the employees. Gaara watched Guren, Sora, and Ranmaru shoot him glances around Jody’s wide body as the imposing man spoke to them, and eventually Gaara looked away, unsure. Feeling off-center, Gaara let Jody do what he felt he needed to do, and Gaara wrote back to Kiba.

The letters continued and so did the strawberry-themed gifts. Kiba asked everything from Gaara’s favorite color, (black) to how he got interesting in spinning, (Jody and his turntable gift), to what he normally did for Christmas (take the day off and have dinner with Jody and the employees). Kiba sent everything from a strawberry-scented candle to a basket of fresh-cut fruit to a bouquet of long-stemmed “roses,” the buds of which were actually strawberry-shaped pieces of chocolate.

Gaara found himself bemused, curious, warm about the insides, and a little sorry for Haku who seemed to do nothing but run errands for Kiba these days. When Gaara began to feel angry or irritated by Kiba’s attentions, he would look at Jody and try to remember his epiphany about things that were complicated and how they could also be good. Sometimes it helped and sometimes it made Gaara want to hide under the counter of the shop. But he persevered, immune to the strange glances from his employees and customers and only slightly put-off by Jody’s tolerant smiles.

A week and a half after the arrival of the first note, Gaara sat at the counter of his shop wondering at himself because he was anxious for the arrival of Haku and Kiba’s next communication. Some of it was the show that accompanied Haku, these days; the pretty man entertained himself by flirting outrageously with Jody at every available opportunity, and it seemed to make Jody nervous, much to Gaara’s surprise and quiet amusement. It gave Haku something to do while he waited for Gaara’s reply.

Gaara’s lips twitched as he stared at the clock. Usually Haku arrived between one and two in the afternoon. It was half-past noon, and Gaara fidgeted. It was a slow day, and Jody hummed to himself as he dusted the display shelves in the lobby. Gaara watched him work, observing the slow, careful movements of his friend’s body and trying not to think about how he missed Kiba at Break and Bliss. He seemed to be keeping his distance on all fronts, and for many reasons that bothered Gaara. He didn’t know if it was because he wanted to see Kiba or if it was because it made him feel avoided. Not shunned, exactly, but…Placated?

Rolling his eyes, Gaara observed the two cars in the bays, and watched as Sora came into the lobby, wiping his hands on a rag.

“We get those powdercoat pieces back that go on the Chevy?” Sora asked Jody.

“Not yet,” Jody replied, coming out from behind the shelves, Swiffer Duster in hand. “Should get ‘em tomorrow.”

“Right,” Sora clipped, always slightly sullen. He turned and walked over to the counter, hand coming up so he could finger one of the chocolate roses that were still in their waterless vase. “You going to eat these?”

Gaara shrugged. Sora smirked. “Then can I have one? Or are they off limits since they’re from your mystery lover?”

“Sora,” Jody cautioned, crossing his arms with the duster still in one hand.

“What?” Sora retorted.

“We talked about this, kid.”

“I’m just teasing.” Sora frowned, taking his hand away from the chocolate flower.

“You think that’s a good idea?” Jody asked in a patient tone. “Teasing the boss?”

Sora glanced at Gaara and then at Jody, looking caught. “Well, maybe not before. But now he’s got someone, so it’s like…better.”

Gaara frowned as the two men spoke about him like he wasn’t there. “I don’t have a someone. Or a lover.”

Not exactly, anyway, Gaara amended to himself as he thought about Kiba’s hand on his dick back at Bliss. Seemed like that was a long time ago, and that bothered Gaara. Apparently, it was just a day to be bothered by a long list of things associated with Kiba.

Gaara thought he should be used to that phenomenon by now.

Sora’s head whipped to look at Gaara, and then his eyes fell away from the steady blue-green gaze. “Wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Sorry.” He sounded like he choked on the apology, and Gaara looked at Jody, questioning with an arch of his eyebrow.

Jody sighed. “I just didn’t want them to say nothin’, boss. Seemed like it’d be difficult ‘nuff without the kids’ bein’ all helpful.” He gave Sora a meaningful look.

“They’re just gifts and letters,” Gaara said, though his heart was beating faster at the thought. And where the hell was Haku, anyway?

“Yeah. _Love_ letters.” Sora snickered. Jody stalked over to the boy who immediately retreated with his hands up.

“Sorry, sorry!” Sora said quickly, but he was grinning.

“You askin’ for it, boy,” Jody said.

“They’re not love letters,” Gaara sighed. “He’s just asking questions.”

Sora’s eyes went huge. “So it _is_ a ‘he?’”

“Sora.” Jody loomed over the much smaller form, and Sora seemed to shrink.

“Jody,” Gaara said and the man backed off two steps.

“Yes, it’s a ‘he.’” Gaara looked at Sora, who met his gaze and grinned.

“Cool.”

Gaara tilted his head. “It is?”

“Well, sure, boss,” Sora said, inching away from Jody while the blond glared at him. “We’re all happy you’re…uh…well. Finding some sort of…I mean…” His mouth formed a smirk. “Normal. We’re fuckin’ happy you’re a little more normal these days.”

Gaara’s eyes widened, and Jody ran a hand over his face.

“…thank you. I think.” Gaara frowned. “But there’s nothing ‘normal’ about Kiba.” Gaara looked at the chocolate bouquet as if this proved his point.

Sora’s jaw dropped. “Inuzuka? You’re dating fuckin’ _Stryke?”_

Gaara felt new lines threaten to form in his forehead and felt a flicker of agitation at both Sora’s tone and the fact that he had no idea what Sora was talking about. “I’m not dating. And who or what is ‘Stryke?’”

Sora threw his hands up in the air. “He’s _only_ the most famous DJ in the fuckin’ city!”

“That’ll be ‘bout enough, Sora,” Jody drawled, waving the duster menacingly.

“No, it’s…” Gaara shook his head once, cursing his ignorance and hating the feeling of being in the damned dark. Jody looked at Gaara curiously while he struggled to find words.

“How do you know this?” Gaara asked after a second or two.

Sora smiled and Gaara was reminded of sharks. “Not really supposed to know, because he rarely makes public appearances. Only does the late-late show on WKDS. But I was out with my friends once and saw this guy get out of a car and head into the Hyuuga Building downtown, and my friend goes, ‘That’s DJ Stryke!’ And he knew him ‘cause there used to be a photo of the guy on the radio’s website before Styke got all famous. So when Mr. Inuzuka came into the shop the other day…” Sora shrugged as if the rest should be obvious.

Gaara mulled that over, feeling slightly grateful for the knowledge that Kiba worked in radio. A DJ. A famous DJ.

Fascinating.

“Thanks for the education, Sora,” Jody sighed, looking at Gaara again for a heartbeat or two before he continued. “Let’s get back to the Chevy, a’right?”

“Sure, sure…whatever.” Sora shrugged and turned to go back into the shop, but Guren came inside, instead.

“Trouble,” she said, low and fast and looking at Gaara first and Jody second. “Got a guy out here who says he knows you. I don’t like the look of him or his four little friends.”

Gaara watched as Jody frowned and craned his head to look out the glass wall into the shop. Gaara’s eyes glanced and saw what Jody’s words confirmed: “I don’t see nobody?”

“They’re out in the parking lot. Nicely out of view of the main windows,” Guren said pointedly.

Not giving it another thought, Gaara reached beneath the counter and grabbed a 9MM out of a holster bolted to the underside. If Guren was nervous, then Gaara was, too. She rarely ever made a fuss – which Gaara liked – and was a woman of few words, which Gaara respected. Her declaration of trouble made Gaara wish he had more than one weapon as fight or flight wove a knot in his guts.

Shoving the gun in the back of his pants, Gaara looked up and Guren nodded at him. Sora reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell, looking at Jody.

“Don’t make no calls, yet,” Jody said, as Gaara stepped out from behind the counter. “But keep the digits up.”

“You got it,” Sora said, standing aside as Gaara walked over to the door into the shop. Jody grabbed his arm and stopped Gaara, moving in a long stride to walk out ahead of him. Gaara said nothing and followed, Guren and Sora behind him. Jody grabbed his massive wrench, Guren picked up a blowtorch, and Sora followed with the phone. Gaara took a moment to be proud of his crew.

The group walked the length of the shop and turned to look out the last bay door. That was the empty stall, and Gaara saw Ranmaru first, and blinked. The young man’s head was down, his fists clenched, and he stood facing away from the shop. Standing with an arm around Ranmaru’s shoulders and his back to Gaara was a tall man with black hair. He wore a dark suit, and the sun picked up the glint off the multiple gold rings on the hand resting on Ranmaru’s narrow shoulder.

The rings reminded Gaara of something from the distant past, and the world began to slow down.

“I told you, I’m not fucking interested. I got a job!” Ranmaru said heatedly to the man in the suit. Around them in a loose half-circle was a group of men, all standing casually and in such varying states of dress that it gave Gaara pause. One dark-skinned man wore all leather, a blond wore a red suit, a third had on a ratty t-shirt and ripped jeans, and the fourth had on plaid pants and a pink shirt.

The world slowed down even further as Gaara saw the telltale fleshy burn scar of a brand on the side of their necks: the two “D’s” that at one time marked such men for immediate death in Gaara and Jody’s world.

When Jody and the rest appeared in the open bay door, the four men in odd clothing took a collective step back and toward one another making a loose formation. Gaara’s hand was already behind him and on the gun before Ranmaru and the suit turned in seeming slow-motion.

“Well, I'll be good goddamned,” said Vince – one time chop shop owner and prostitution ring-runner. Gaara stared at the man who had been the intended recipient of Beast all those years ago, and his eyes narrowed when Vince flashed a golden-tooth-capped smile. Gaara felt momentarily set adrift in time and space before he forced himself to feel his feet on the concrete. He watched Vince’s arm tighten around Ranmaru’s shoulders, and Vince’s new men took a step closer to their boss.

Gaara observed everything and didn't like what he understood: that Vince was alive and well, associated with the Devil Dogs, and Gaara’s throat constricted as he wondered what in the hell Vince was doing here with the damned mutts.

“They told me some big, dumb blond and his red-headed fucktoy ran this place, but goddamn…” Vince’s grin turned feral and his dark eyes flashed. “I thought it was just the meth talkin’.”

“Sora,” Gaara growled, hand tightening on the Sig and brain explaining that shooting Vince unprovoked would still land Gaara in jail. No matter how much the fucker might deserve it.

Without a word, the youth hit the “send” button on his cell phone and brought the device to his ear. Gaara felt another surge of pride that Sora never took his eyes off the enemy.

“Now, what’s that shit doin’?” Vince asked, grin still in place but eyes on Sora.

“We need police sent to Akasuna Auto,” Sora said in response to the dispatcher’s question. “There’s a group of men threatening one of our employees, and we think they’re armed.”

Vince’s face lost its grin and he snarled. “Now that’s not very fuckin’ neighborly,” he hissed. “I’ve not harmed our buddy, here.” His fingers tightened around Ranmaru’s shoulders, and Gaara’s gaze narrowed.

"Get off me," Ranmaru muttered and finally shrugged out of Vince’s grip to stumble-walk to Jody, who caught him and wrapped him into a loose hold with his free hand. The other one held the wrench in a grip that managed to be menacing and functional.

“You can wait ‘round ‘til the cops show up if you wanna,” Jody said, voice on the edge of threatening as Sora spoke their address and repeated the level of threat into the cell phone. “I’m sure they’d love to chat with you people.”

Vince spat on the pavement and pointed at Jody and Ranmaru. “That bitch owes a man named Raiga a favor. And that favor goes to me.” Vince’s head ducked down and he looked positively demonic as he grinned again. “He’s gonna be the newest Dog in my pack. We been thinking for a while now that this City’s too damned soft and pretty.”

“I’ll be sure to pass all that along to the cops when they get here,” Jody said pleasantly. “But by all means, keep tellin’ me all your dirty plans, Vince. I’m all eager and shit.”

Gaara’s eyes moved to look at Jody, alarmed, as he calculated how fast he could shoot these men should they draw on his long-time protector. He clicked the safety off the gun and watched, adrenaline making everything move like it was submersed in water.

Nostrils flaring, Vince gave some signal to his men, and as a group they began to walk backward. Vince turned and caught Gaara’s eye and pointed a finger crowned with a yellowed nail at Gaara's heart. “And you owe me a goddamned car. Don’t think I forgot, you little cunt.”

Gaara said nothing and Jody took a step forward as Guren turned on her blowtorch. “Call my boss another name, Vince, and we’ll see what we can cut off ‘a you and your boys ‘fore the police get here and turn us all civilized.”

But Vince didn’t look at Jody or respond to his threat. Instead, Vince kept his gaze steady on Gaara, who returned it with equanimity despite the voices urging him to shoot Vince in the face while Gaara had the chance. It’d feel really, really good, after all. Vince used to rough up all the younger Saint boys. Raped more than one of them, if Gaara’s memory served. Leon never corrected the behavior as he needed Vince for whatever bullshit gang reasoning that made sense back in those days and was just ash and stale memory dust to Gaara now.

Vince never attempted to lay a finger on Gaara, however. Not with Jody at his back. And not with Gaara’s reputation.

“Can’t believe you’re still sucking air,” Vince said to Gaara.

“Likewise,” Gaara said levelly.

“You owe me.”

“All I have is mine,” Gaara replied, stepping forward next to Jody and Ranmaru. “Come back here again, and I’ll blow your brains out.” Gaara tilted his head as one of the Dogs looked nervously at Vince before regaining his thug demeanor.

Sirens sounded, and Vince and his men suddenly broke their posturing stances and ran for a rust bucket that might have been an Oldsmobile at some point in the distant past. Doors slammed and the car roared to life, flinging bits of rock as they left the parking lot. Gaara watched, explaining to his body that it could calm down, now. No one was going to spill blood today.

_Dammit._

“Boss, if you could get back inside and store that weapon, I’d feel better ‘bout the cops gettin’ here,” Jody said without taking his eyes off the back of the Olds, which had no tag that Gaara could see.

Nodding once, Gaara turned and walked back across the bay floors and into the lobby. His hands shook as he put the gun back in its holster, and it wasn’t until he straightened up that he saw Haku. Gaara nearly jumped but caught himself.

“Sorry,” Haku said quietly, taking a step back and head going down in apology.

“How long have you been here?” Gaara asked, and he sounded breathy to himself, which made him frown.

“Long enough to see most of the confrontation,” Haku said to the floor. “I have word from Master Kiba.”

Gaara closed his eyes and inhaled long and slow. He didn’t know how to feel: worried, angry, upset, shocked. It was all there in some proportion, and it made it hard to think about Kiba or notes or much of anything that wasn’t soaked in the drying, stale blood of memories long dead.

“Haku. I can’t. Not right now,” Gaara said, opening his eyes to find the slim man wearing a dark blue summer dress already nodding.

“Should I…” Haku bit his lip and looked out toward the shop.

“Should you what?”

“Tell Master Kiba to come here?” Haku looked at Gaara with doe eyes, and Gaara heard himself speak before his brain caught up to his lips.

“Yes.”

Haku’s entire body seemed to relax in relief, and he bowed before turning to run out the front door, letter still in hand. Gaara watched Haku disappear from his line of sight as two police cars pulled into the parking lot. Playing the part of the observer, Gaara stood at the counter with a blank expression as Jody went out to greet the officers. He found it ironic and incredible that Jody – who, at one time, played the part of moving target for cursing cops – calmly spoke to all four of Monoshizukanohi’s finest and shook their hands. Jody motioned and Ranmaru came out as well, head down.

For a moment, the world slipped into a surreal state where Gaara felt caught: should he take charge? Go out and stand with Jody and Ranmaru as they spoke to the officers? He felt almost guilty and like he was hiding here in the shop, though what Jody said about the weapon made good sense. License or no, being armed when cops were involved was never a good idea. Not in Gaara’s extensive experience, anyway.

And what about Haku and Kiba? Gaara leaned to rest his forearms on the counter and studied a piece of grit on the laminate while he chewed on the joint of his left thumb. Gaara wanted to believe he told Haku that Kiba could come to the shop because Gaara couldn’t manage Vince, the Dogs, and Kiba's letters all at the same time.

But in truth, seeing Vince made Gaara feel _young_. And also above that sort of nonsense. Yes, he wanted to kill the man – and his friends – but that seemed fairly on par. What wasn’t typical was that the idea made Gaara feel tired. Seeing Jody take such a firm stance made Gaara feel the urge to take a nap, and since Gaara liked sleep almost as much as he liked the idea of Vince and the dogs in town, Gaara was surprised at himself.

And what about Vince. The hell was he doing, trying to encroach on the city? Recruiting Ranmaru off the street or just away from Gaara? All that bullshit happened so long ago with the cars. Gaara felt like it was all a very small piece of him, now, and thought briefly that Brian the shrink would approve of that. He frowned and shook that thought away.

But while Gaara may not understand his urge to curl up under covers and rest, he did know that seeing Vince made him grateful for his connection to Neji, the city, and in possession of top-of-the-line security systems. It was odd to think of himself as a “citizen” instead of an outsider, but he supposed that’s what he was, now. Business owner. Employee. Granted, a well-armed version of both those things, but a functional member of society nonetheless.

Shifting his weight, Gaara’s eyes lost focus as he thought about Vince and then Kiba, and the combined images made him want to hit things. He wasn’t scared of Vince, the Dogs, or death. But…

Gaara’s gaze fixated on the bottom part of the vase of fake roses Kiba had sent. Parts of Gaara ached because the vase was there and Vince was alive and the cops were in Gaara’s shop. Kiba was involved in Gaara’s life, now, and said life just got messy. Possibly bloody and messy. Gaara considered that, and he tried to ignore the lump in his throat.

_Am I upset because I don’t want Kiba involved and stupidly told him to come to the shop or am I upset because Vince threatened everyone and I don’t want to…maybe I am a little upset at the idea of dying because…_

Everything got tangled and dirty in Gaara’s mind, and six voices tried to speak at once. Making a soft noise, he clutched at his hair with his free hand and stayed that way until the front door jingled. Gaara’s head snapped up and his eyes met the concerned, pale green stare of one Kiba-DJ-Stryke.

Gaara tried to feel nothing, but the relief ignored his best efforts.

“Kiba.”

“The hell the cops here for?” Kiba demanded, crossing quickly to the counter and resting his hand near Gaara’s arm. He didn’t touch Gaara, but he definitely got close.

“It’s nothing.”

Kiba scowled and Haku entered the shop, trying to be unobtrusive. “Haku said some asshole threatened you and Jody.” Kiba’s eyes searched Gaara’s, and Gaara finally had to look away. Having Kiba here was different now. Gaara’s mind showed him a picture on a downward angle: Kiba’s hand around Gaara’s cock. The image made Gaara jerk his head in a rough shake. He didn’t feel so much like hurting Kiba after that incident, the lassitude that followed, and all the letters. Gaara was damned near happy to see Kiba, actually, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, but there was Vince and Ranmaru and Gaara’s strange cowardice about death.

“Gaara…” Kiba’s voice approached tender, and Gaara straightened up, glaring at the man.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“I drove Haku here ev’ry day,” Kiba answered, eyes intense and ablaze with life and determination. Gaara felt oddly safer beneath such scrutiny.

“Just parked down the street an’ waited.”

Gaara didn’t know what to say to that, really. It made sense. And made him want to accuse Kiba of stalking him, but Gaara’d answered his letters and accepted his gifts, which made him a willing participant.

“The hell is wrong with me?” Gaara muttered. His lips felt numb and there seemed to be a block of ice forming in his stomach.

“I dunno, sweetheart. ‘swhat I’m tryin’ to find out,” Kiba answered, stepping closer again; sliding along the counter to reach his hand toward Gaara.

“No,” Gaara said, shaking his head and he wasn’t even sure what he denied, but it didn’t matter as Jody stepped through the service door at that moment, eying Kiba with a look that Gaara recognized. The look made Gaara want to be angry, but the best he could do was conjure up a good solid, irritated.

“Jody,” Kiba said as if the man embodied the last sane one on earth. “The hell’s happenin’?”

Jody looked at Kiba and his eyes flickered to Gaara. Jody sighed, and again Gaara felt like the entire globe was in on some secret and Gaara was on the outside looking in. And the most damnably irritating thing about it was that apparently Gaara’s body language or smell or whatever gave off impressions that added to said secret, and Gaara was just…he hated…and…it was all so…

“Complicated.”

“Yeah,” Jody agreed with Gaara. “It is. Got an old friend in town causin’ trouble. We’re handlin’ it, but…” Jody shrugged and swiveled his head to address Gaara. “Gonna go with Ranmaru downtown. Police want him on record and need to sign some sorta paperwork about restraining orders or protection or somethin’. Boss…think you might ought to close early today.”

Nodding, Gaara thought that was a good idea. It was a slow day, anyway, and he was grateful that none of their high-end customers had witnessed Vince’s antics. That thought made Gaara angry as it threatened him on different levels, and his jaw flexed.

“I don’t much like the idea ‘a you bein’ by yourself, though,” Jody said quietly. And then he looked at Kiba. Gaara watched something pass between the two men and felt _managed._

“I’ll stay,” Kiba said.

“Yeah. I suspect you will."

“Jody…” Kiba began but the big man put up a hand.

“Don’t matter right now. I seen what you’re doin’. And I seen what boss makes of it.”

Kiba said nothing, and Haku quietly cleared his throat, catching Jody’s attention.

“Hey there,” Jody said amiably. “You need a ride somewhere?”

“That would be lovely, yes, if Mas-…” Haku paused, smiled, and then continued. “If _Mr_. Inuzuka is going to be otherwise occupied with Mr. Sabaku, then a ride would be lovely.”

“Well, c’mon with me, then,” Jody said before turning back to Gaara and Kiba. “The kids’ll close up, boss. Just go on with Kiba if you would.”

Gaara bristled, and Jody immediately made placating signs with his hands. “I don’t mean to tell you what to do, boss, I’m just a big pile of worry and got too many to keep a watch on.”

Pulling a face, Gaara relented. “Fine.”

“Aw, gee, thanks, sweetheart,” Kiba rasped, grinning at Gaara.

“He tries anything you don’t like, just shoot his nuts off, boss,” Jody quipped, only half-kidding.

“Ya people seriously got it in fer my balls,” Kiba joked back, watching as Gaara walked around the counter. “No good deed goes unrewarded an’ shit.”

Jody snorted and Haku followed the big man back into the shop. Gaara stayed silent, and Kiba followed him out the front door and around the side of the building. The Charger was parked next to Beast, and Gaara paused, taking that in.

“I can follow ya,” Kiba said, voice close and making Gaara jerk and struggle not to step away from the presence he felt at his back.

“Fine,” Gaara grumbled.

“See ya at the house, then.” Kiba’s body barely brushed Gaara’s as he walked around the smaller man, heading toward his car.

Thinking this was a bad idea on many levels and resenting the hell out of Jody and the man’s incessant need to protect, Gaara stalked over to Beast. Moments later, two engines roared to life and tires churned grit as the cars made their way up to Gaara’s home.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Beginning to get a little...interesting 'round the Auto shop, hm? XD
> 
> ∞Also: Midaretakaze = "sad sand." I get a lot of questions as to why this seems to be a land of Japanese names and a serious mixture of non-Japanese people. Here's the thing: when I started this story, I basically moved so far out of "fandom" and into my AU that I stopped caring whether or not this is technically a "Japanese" or "Anime-friendly" country. Jody was the first character who really wandered in from New Amsterdam - which is really where this story takes place, and less Mono - and decided to hang out for a while. So forgive my not-quite-Japanese-but-with-a-Japanese-name-country weirdness. It's AU. It happens.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Use Somebody - Kings of Leon ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRgFeZa_I48).All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> I've been roaming around  
> Always looking down at all I see  
> Painted faces, fill the places I can't reach 
> 
> You know that I could use somebody  
> You know that I could use somebody
> 
> ∞ Be warned: this ain't your typical love story.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love and the past becoming the present,  
> ♥Dee


	15. Chapter 15

Gaara sat in Beast with the engine idling in the garage. He heard metal creak and a car door slam, and, sighing, he turned his key in the ignition. Gaara reached for the handle to get out and his hand grasped air as Kiba opened the car door for him. Scowling and feeling strange to himself -- underwater, embarrassed, just odd -- Gaara climbed out of Beast and tried not to look too closely at Kiba. He wore a soft, fitted shirt with pearly snap buttons that was the color of fire-kissed maple leaves in autumn. It bunched over the belt buckle and waist of his snug jeans. Gaara had to wrench his eyes away from the bulge at Kiba's crotch, and he yanked the door from Kiba, slamming it with force.

"Ouch," Kiba said. His hand rose like he was going to pat Beast's roof, and Gaara's eyes narrowed.

Instead of touching the car, however, Kiba patted the air just above it. He grinned, canines flashing.

With a frustrated sound, Gaara turned on his heel and went over to the wall to push the button that lowered the heavy, metal garage door. Kiba followed, thumbs in his pockets, and Gaara walked to the lone door out of the garage. He keyed in a security code on the pad next to the exit and then walked outside, not waiting on Kiba. Gaara wouldn't quite mind it if the door somehow hit Kiba, but he also couldn't bring himself to enact that bit of violence, either.

"Nice fence ya got there," Kiba commented.

"I like my privacy."

"So ya can go swimmin' at night in that?" Kiba asked, hopeful as he pointed to the plunge pool and hot tub in Gaara's back yard. The water steamed in the chill of the afternoon air.

"Sometimes…yes…" Gaara answered, getting out his keys.

"Sweet," Kiba replied, stopping so closely to Gaara that Gaara could smell him: faint aftershave, soap, cigarettes, and strawberries. Gaara swallowed as he applied key to lock and went inside his home. Quickly he stepped over to the security panel and entered another code. Kiba closed the door and threw the deadbolt and chain lock. Gaara liked that he didn't have to tell Kiba to do that, and he bent to unlace his work boots.

"This is nice," Kiba complimented.

Gaara stepped out of his shoes before turning and tilting his head at Kiba. "You're in the foyer." Gaara felt the need to point this out as the rest of the house was, in fact, much nicer than the entryway, and from this room the view was limited. Gaara watched dispassionately as Kiba braced on the wall with one hand while Gaara got off his shoes. Finished, Gaara crossed his arms, frowning as he caught himself getting worked up at not understanding a compliment.

"The outside, I mean," Kiba said. He took a step toward Gaara, and it was all Gaara could do to stay still. His eyes canted down and a crazy urge to get closer and feel to see if Kiba wore the wide-banded watch today -- put a hand around the wrist that was wider than Gaara's, to touch -- threatened to make his feet move without his brain's approval. The want of such a thing made his heart pound painfully and his lungs hurt for air. He stared at the undone shirt cuff that hung down to brush the back of Kiba's hand.

"What's wro--" Kiba started but he was interrupted by a loud hiss. His head jerked toward the sound, and he took a step back. "The fuck is that?"

"Cat," Gaara said, both calling the name and giving explanation. Cat was on the stairs, yellow eyes on Kiba and low rumble issuing from his throat. Gaara knelt down, and Cat cautiously approached, eyes on the interloper.

"That's not a cat; that's a damned mini-jaguar," Kiba muttered.

"He's a Maine Coon," Gaara explained, liking it when Cat arched up into Gaara's hand to be stroked, growl turning into a purr. Gaara scratched Cat's back, glad to have something to occupy himself that he could feel and experience without hyperventilating.

"And he's, ah, yers?" Kiba asked.

"Yes," Gaara answered, word forming slowly as he thought Cat's presence in his home should be a clear indicator that Cat belonged there, and he didn't understand why Kiba sounded so odd.

"…right. So yer a cat person?"

"As opposed to…?" Gaara stood up and gave Kiba a blank look.

"A dog person," Kiba answered.

Gaara thought about it. "I have to choose a side?"

Kiba barked a laugh, making both Cat and Gaara jump.

"What?" Gaara asked.

"Nothin', that was just…" Kiba licked his lips. "Ya know, never mind. I got a dog. Big guy by the name of Akamaru."

"Good?" Gaara tried.

"Yeah, it is." Kiba smiled. "He's a great guy, really. Ya might like 'im."

Gaara pondered the likelihood of his personality meshing with one of an animal that belonged to Kiba and got caught up in the fur and teeth of the contemplation. Kiba remained silent and the only sound was the rumble-roar of Cat's purr.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, Gaara tried to figure out what Jody would tell him to do in the situation. Gaara did value the big man's ability to explain social customs in a way that didn't make Gaara feel entirely obtuse or like punching something.

"Are you thirsty?" Gaara asked, pleased that his voice came out level and faintly inquisitive. His mouth was dry, so perhaps Kiba's was, too.

"Nah," Kiba said with a shrug. "Thanks, though."

"Oh."

_Well…now what?_

Hesitantly, Gaara leaned toward the stairs; thought about going up to get himself some water. But the risers looked like so much effort, and Gaara's head tilted town. He absently picked a cat hair off of his work shirt, saw a grease stain, and turned to walk down the hallway toward the master suite. Kiba's footsteps followed, and Gaara stopped, frowning over his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Keepin' an eye on you."

"I'm just going to change."

Kiba smiled, and in the dim light his eyes flashed. The effect startled Gaara breathless for a heartbeat, and he turned away to put one hand to his head, dizzy.

"Jody'd kill me if I didn't stick with you. 'swhy I'm here, sweetheart."

"Whatever," Gaara mumbled. The way Kiba slurred "sweetheart" and turned it into an affectionate growl made Gaara want to lean against the wall. An internal war began to rage on three fronts: he understood some things, he didn't want to accept any of them, and that battle raged over the bloody graves of stirring memories.

"Ya okay?" Kiba came closer, the smell of smoke got stronger, and images blotted Gaara's vision: Kiba's hand burning up Itachi's ass, swirling smoke over his DJ booth, a piece of candy at Gaara's feet, Jody reaching for him, Uncle's eyes, the flash of Vince's gold teeth…

"Fine," Gaara spat. He stalked down the hallway and shoved open the door to the walk-in closet near his bedroom, angrily flicking on the light. Four racks of shelving were to Gaara's left and right. A wooden vanity of sorts was straight ahead, shoes stacked in tall shelving, and a large mirror stood in one back corner. Gaara paused in the middle of the room, and his head slowly swiveled to the left. Beneath the hanging shirttails was a shelf and on the shelf was a Glock: loaded and ready for fire.

Kiba leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. "Ya ain't actin' fine."

Gaara let the words roll off of him. He didn't know what "fine" meant, really. It was just something one said to get people to shut up, and Gaara knew by now that such tactics were useless against people like Kiba and Jody. He stared at the gun and thought about chocolate roses.

"You're a DJ," Gaara stated. He reached down to the hem of his polo work shirt and pulled it off without hesitation. It soundlessly dropped to the carpet, and Gaara shivered with a chill, skin tightening. He resisted the urge to rub at his arms, forcing them to hang by his sides.

There was a pause. "Yeah…I am."

Gaara swallowed as the rustle of fabric told him Kiba came closer. His eyes darted from gun to floor and back again. Gaara's feet were frozen in place, and his hands curled into fists. He'd been so relieved to see Kiba at the shop. Should he hate himself for that? It was irrational to be happier with company in the face of threat; more people to protect, and Gaara didn't know if Kiba could even manage a weapon.

More irrational was that the skin of Gaara's back was warmer than his front. His nipples pebbled with chill, but the awareness of Kiba seemed to make blood flow backward.

That made some sense; Kiba turned everything else upside down. What was a little physiological reversal on top of the mental games?

_Breathe…goddammit…_

"Got a show after hours on WKDS. Ya been checkin' up on me?" Kiba's voice was unusually soft; damned near tender. Gaara's teeth clenched; stopped him from yelling at Kiba to cut that shit out. Cut it out right _now._

Gaara closed his eyes as the floor tilted; made him think he was falling when he knew he wasn't. Widening his stance, Gaara tried to pull his mind away from the distraction of skin, voice, and presence to think; to explain why he was so unmade in the hope he could rediscover balance. This wasn't Haze or Break or even Bliss -- this was his home. Kiba wasn't some cold, calculating stranger -- he was warm, aggressive, and known. Gaara's breath was quick, his pulse was quicker, and he stared again at the gun. A vision rose from the tilting floor -- a hazy swirl of smoke and mirrors: a boy on his knees begging for his life.

"No." Gaara answered Kiba and pleaded with his mind at the same time.

"I know what you do," Kiba said, voice clearer, closer, and Gaara licked his lips, head shaking in a minute movement of denial.

"'course I do. Seen and heard ya plenty 'a times at the clubs."

For some reason, Gaara didn't think Kiba was talking about music anymore, and it was confusing to know that; to feel that it was right. Gaara stood at the crossroads of indecision and fear: he didn't know what he wanted, didn't want to understand what had struck him immobile and incapable. The humiliation of ignorance and his position threatened to drown him; the agony of wanting to ask Kiba -- to order him, tell him, beg him -- to please _do_ something filled Gaara's lungs with lead.

A flash of white in Gaara's vision, and he heard the boy condemned by the Saints to die--

_"Please…please God, no…"_

\--for sins wrapped up in survival; heard his own reply before Gaara pulled the trigger--

_"Sorry…there is no God."_

\--and Gaara clenched his teeth against more memory--

_A guncrack, a door squeak._

_"Uncle? Why are you--"_

_"Shh…" A finger to lips. A shift of sheets. A presence moving toward him._

\--and Gaara whimpered in the here in and now.

A heartbeat and hands touched Gaara's body -- one on his arm, one on his waist. They were warm, the grip gentle, and Gaara could feel every finger like it burned through cloth and charred skin.

A breath sucked through teeth and Gaara lunged for the shelf, fingers wrapping around the Glock. The gun was cool and heavy; like Gaara couldn't lift it if he tried.

A dazed blink and Gaara had a small eternity to wonder why he wanted a weapon; he didn't want to shoot the man who sent him strawberry jam. He didn't want to hurt the guy who wasn't phased by Gaara's anything -- past to penchant for violence to perceptual impasse.

A gasp and a body pressed along Gaara's back, the warmth of it hundreds of times hotter than the impression left by anticipation. The hand at Gaara's waist pulled and guided, the one on his arm squeezed, and Gaara heard the faint sing-song of nursery rhyme. The closet was crowded with delusions of pain, but a solid, steady hand reached and covered Gaara's over the gun. The contrast of skin tone -- darkness and light -- made Gaara blink, the effort monumental since each of his eyelashes weighed a ton.

A choked sound that startled Gaara's body into a violent jerk, and then a voice in Gaara's ear: "Ya can shoot me if ya need to, sweetheart."

_"Uncle, stop…please…please?"_

_A door clicks closed, nightlight and shadow in a child's borrowed room in hell._

Time slipped, stopped, sped up. Gaara panted through his nose, and Kiba kissed his neck.

"Let go when you want to," Kiba whispered.

Gaara gutted a sound and trembled all over when the hand over his on the Glock let go to slide up and around to the front of his throat. Fingers brushed over Gaara's rapid-fire pulse and a thumb squeezed just beneath the line of Gaara's jaw. The other hand moved, too, and a palm covered Gaara's cock through his jeans. He got hard so fast his head swam, and Gaara arched back and into Kiba, hand letting go of the gun to fly up and slap against the one at his throat -- but not to yank it away.

Gaara threaded his fingers between Kiba's and forced Kiba to _squeeze._ The grip on his cock tightened, too, and Gaara writhed, not aware of anything but the evaporation of thought that accompanied the adrenaline and fire dumping into his veins.

"Good, baby, good," Kiba crooned. He forced Gaara's head back and sharp teeth dragged along the skin of Gaara's neck. Gaara wanted to hate the words -- wanted to wad them up like cum-stained dirty sheets and throw them into watery denial. But instead he whined and to Gaara, it sounded like the noise came from very far away.

"Gonna mark up your neck and shoulder, sweetheart. Let go of my hand if you want me to stop."

Gaara growled, brain misfiring as thoughts tried to scramble together and missed each other like dancers without rhythm. Kiba's hand roughly pushed Gaara's head to one side, forcing a sound from Gaara's lungs followed by a strangled noise as Kiba's teeth sank into Gaara's flesh.

" _Nnh…nnh…yes,_ " Gaara hissed as Kiba sucked on skin made by the spaces between their fingers. Kiba's grip firmed, thumb digging painfully into the space behind Gaara's ear. The pinch of teeth on unbroken skin was a prelude to the fierce suck of lips, and Gaara squirmed as he felt a rough tongue push against his throat. His pulse pounded in his ears and beneath the pads of Kiba's fingertips, and just when he got enough neurons together to start to speak -- to cuss, to warn, to _anything_ \-- the hand at his crotch moved layers of fabric over Gaara's dick.

" _Gah_ ," Gaara gasped, dots flaring in his field of vision. He could barely breathe but didn't want more air; he wanted more restriction, craved and burned. Gaara's head bent on a painful angle, and Kiba reared back to snap onto a new patch of skin, lower. The sound of wet tongue and sucking mouth filled Gaara's ears, and Kiba groaned. The noise made Gaara's entire body shudder. Kiba's shirt rubbed against Gaara's back, the chilly dig of the buttons caught and dragged. The sharp tang of sweat swirled with smoke and filled Gaara's nose, and his eyes burned.

A roar of fluttering heartbeats drowned something Kiba said, and Gaara's throat worked in a hard swallow. The hand on Gaara's cock squeezed once and let go, and Gaara gritted his teeth to hold back a snarl of anger. But Gaara didn't fight it when Kiba grasped Gaara's wrist and bent that arm behind Gaara's back, making room by stepping away and then pressing them together again. It was better than the DJ booth; it wasn't an impersonal bar stopping his air this time, but a wide hand. Kiba's blunt nails dug and the fingertip of his ring finger stroked with care that undermined and also enforced Kiba's grip.

"Yer skin's so goddamned pretty when it's bruised," Kiba rumbled, and Gaara didn't remember Kiba stopping his kisses though he felt the cool rush of air over marred, wet flesh. Kiba mouthed Gaara's ear, and Gaara struggled. He hated attention to his ears; thought he hated it; swore to himself that he knew that fact to be true.

A lick traced the shell, stubble rubbed the rough way, and Gaara's lower lip and knees trembled.

"I love you like this," Kiba whispered, and Gaara felt every word as it formed. The brushes made him want to scream, not to stop but for more. There were no pictures, no visions, no nothing…just Kiba's hand on his throat, body against his, and tongue against skin that felt so alive it was its own external entity feeding shocks of sensation to Gaara's brain.

"Ki…Kiba…" Gaara rasped, voice alien to his ears.

A rustle of denim, subtle movement of bodies locked together in a fight for air, a snick of knife, and Gaara stared at the fixture set in the ceiling above.

"Bet this skin a'yers is real sensitive," Kiba said. "Bet it shows every…little thing…"

Gaara's chest heaved and went rigid as the cool, pointed tip of blade touched his sternum. Gaara's hand moved between them, and the edge went away.

"No," Gaara gasped, and he gripped Kiba's belt in a scrabble. He yanked to find a hold and to tell Kiba to bring back the blade. Gaara's motion moved them both, and the world spun as his brain screeched that he shouldn't be doing this. Gaara shouldn't be asking for _more._ Fucking hell but that was weak, insipid…wrong. He should fight the man at his back -- should destroy him. Rip off his cock, gouge out his eyes, turn and take the knife and--

"Gonna let me play, baby?" Kiba's gritty voice cut through the wailing in Gaara's brain. The tip of the knife's blade scraped from collarbone to belly button in a long, smooth line, and protest died in its wake.

Gaara couldn't answer, but apparently Kiba didn't need him to. "Want t'scratch ya up with red lines." Another drag over ribs, and Gaara didn't move. "I wanna outline you in marks," Kiba husked, and Gaara tensed against a shiver. The drag of knife tip moved to his navel, but then stopped to turn. The next move was the length of the blade, and Gaara could do nothing but feel the thrum of his aching cock and the singing of blood that he wished Kiba would spill. Worried that Kiba would do it; and that fear made Gaara die at the thought and it buried him deep.

"Mm, I was right," Kiba husked. "Fuckin' love it when I'm right. Ya can see what I'm doin' in that mirror over there. Watch with me, baby…" Kiba bodily moved them both, and Gaara would have stumbled except for Kiba's leg pressed into the back of Gaara's. Kiba leaned, forcing Gaara to rest against Kiba and the hold he had on Gaara's throat. The pressure changed as Kiba forced Gaara's view to shift from ceiling to wall, the thumb behind Gaara's ear jabbing into the base of his skull and tilting his head down.

"Now you see," Kiba growled, mouth against Gaara's hair and eyes meeting Gaara's in the mirror. By the glare of the overhead light, Gaara studied his heaving form. His neck was marked with a line of deep maroon splotches that would soon morph into black and blue. Kiba's hand spanned his throat, and the part of Gaara that remained objective marveled at how small his neck looked in Kiba's grasp. Gaara's arm disappeared behind his back, and he clutched at Kiba's belt again: flexed to feel it. His jeans sagged low on his hips, showing bright red curls beneath navel and above fly. His cock was a thick, denim line that twitched as Gaara stared, reminding Gaara it was real and needed more of Kiba's touch, his voice, his anything. The memory of Kiba's hand jerking him off made Gaara's jaw flex, and he saw his mouth open in a silent cry a second before Kiba grinned and sliced the blade tip over Gaara's stomach.

The knife was utilitarian with a black handle, and the slither of its edge wasn't deep enough to cut: it scratched. Kiba waited, Gaara panted a single breath, and Kiba rumbled a sound of approval when a red line stood up on Gaara's skin.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," Kiba sighed. "Yer gonna let me sketch these…" He began to outline Gaara's abs. The blade almost tickled, and Gaara watched it dance. Contours of muscles were soon rimmed in angry red, and Kiba added another line up the center of Gaara's body: from stomach to throat and back again. The image of the knife turning and stabbing into Gaara flooded over him, made him cough a sound. In a flash Gaara saw his guts spilling onto the floor, saw Kiba's twisted sneer, saw a crazy gleam in green eyes.

"D-don't…" Gaara stammered, amazed at the effort it took to speak. He didn't know if he was talking to his brain or to the man behind him, and Kiba's eyes -- calculating, cautious, and fever-bright -- met Gaara's in the mirror. The blade paused, resting.

"Don’t tease you like this?" Kiba said, clearly. He turned the knife so the flat of the blade pressed against Gaara's skin. "Ya wanna bleed a little for me? Hold still so I can make ya run red and taste you?"

The words made Gaara's eyes shut. Fingers petted his neck, the blade sought north and began to circle around Gaara's nipple. It went hard in seconds, the pinch-drag-sting of the knife pulling at Gaara's cock, and he couldn't form an answer. The urge to fight fell away as the need to feel the slice of knife rose, and he felt too many kinds of insane.

"Open your eyes if you want it, sweetheart," Kiba said, and his head moved, hair tickling, and lips pressed once to Gaara's hot skin. He saw too much too fast in a movie that played on the backs of Gaara's eyelids: Kiba licked his letter-opener wound, and Gaara felt a sharp tug of guilt. Kiba ordered Gaara to tell him what he liked, and Gaara shook as he wanted that again. Kiba stood in the DJ booth--

_"All ya gotta do is close your eyes…"_

\--and Gaara got lost in the need to open and close pieces of himself.

_"You are the first person or thing I’ve ever really wanted."_

Gaara couldn't breathe, he felt panicky, and his lids stayed squeezed shut.

_"…keepin' an eye on you…'swhy I'm here, sweetheart."_

Toned pants filled Gaara's ears, and he despised that they were coming from his throat. He wasn't sure if he wanted bloodshed, which was strange and torturous by itself. A boiling cauldron of worry overflowed in Gaara's stomach when nothing happened and Kiba's even breathing never changed. Anger followed -- Gaara shouldn't be so fucking concerned about whether or not Kiba was upset. Gaara had no idea what in the hell that meant or where it came from. The asshole had a knife to Gaara's skin, he should be anything but _worried_ about disappointing the damnable man who made Gaara want to yell in hunger and confusion.

"Good, baby, good," Kiba said, and he sounded relieved. Gaara didn’t understand that, but he felt the blade pull away. He heard the click of it shutting; felt himself relax at the sound. The knife hit the carpet with a barely audible thump, and Gaara sucked in a breath to say something again, but the oxygen and syllables and the anger behind them evaporated when Kiba wrenched Gaara around and kissed him. One hand cupped and cradled the back of Gaara's skull, fingers twisting into hair, and the other wrapped lower, ground them together. The sound the motion pulled from Gaara was surprised, eager, and grateful, and Kiba answered it with an echo and a diving, demanding tongue.

Gaara thought he didn't like kissing, but that fact settled in his mind like a feather that got scorched by the heat Kiba created with teeth and lips. Moaning, Gaara pressed back against Kiba, wrapped his free arm around Kiba's neck and demanded more with the urgency in touch and taste. Kiba complied, hands roaming, searching, squeezing. Gaara hissed when Kiba pulled away at long last, and called out when Kiba's hands moved up Gaara's back to hook over Gaara's narrow shoulders. Kiba pulled Gaara backward, his head bent, and teeth found Gaara's knife-teased nipple.

"Oh _shit_ ," Gaara garbled. He set his jaw against words not under his control and ordered: "Kiba. _Harder."_

With a slick sound, Kiba's pointed canines pierced Gaara's skin; he felt them break through, draw blood, and it was so much better than the knife. That was just a means to an end. _This_ was personal.

Gaara's arms clutched at Kiba's head, and he felt Kiba pull on the wound. He reared up, yanked Gaara upright as he caught one of Gaara's legs between his own and lasciviously licked his lip. Kiba's eyes were black stone ringed by lime. "Taste like you look, sweetheart…" Kiba's face drew closer, and he pressed them together again, making Gaara's eyelids flutter. "All cream and flawless and sweet for me…"

"Sh-shut up," Gaara stuttered before he made a surprised sound as Kiba bruised his mouth again in a kiss.

"No," Kiba snarled when he pulled away, saliva slicks linking their lips. "Not shuttin' up. Tell you what I am gonna fuckin' do, though." Kiba's hand went down and squeezed Gaara's ass, force-rubbed Gaara's dick against Kiba's leg. Words left in the spikes of red need that pierced Gaara's core, and he sank into Kiba's hold on him. Gaara's head fell forward onto Kiba's chest, arms about the other man.

"Gonna take ya into the bedroom, get yer pants down, yer hands bound, and yer cock out." Gaara's breathing went staccato, and Kiba's hand went up to grip Gaara's hair. Letting Kiba wrench his head back, Kiba's mouth hovered over Gaara's and pulled some of Gaara's expelled air into Kiba's lungs.

"Then I'm gonna blow ya so I can drink yer cum."

Gaara lost the ability to speak, but again, Kiba didn't seem to need Gaara's input. He jerked Gaara around, pushed him toward the closet door. Gaara tried to walk, but Kiba kept upsetting his balance: a pull backward against Kiba's hard chest and a bite to Gaara's throat made him trip. Kiba caught him, walked behind Gaara as he tortured Gaara's ear until Gaara made a high-pitched complaining sound. Kiba shoved Gaara and turned him around, yanking him into the steel embrace of Kiba's arms again, and they crossed the threshold of Gaara's bedroom with their mouths locked. Gaara's hands fisted Kiba's shirt, tore at it until some of the snaps came undone, and Kiba sucked on Gaara's tongue with a low moan.

When the backs of Gaara's legs hit the bed, he cried out in surprise as Kiba picked Gaara up about the waist and threw him onto the covers. A heavy body pinned Gaara's a rushed breath later, and their tongues went back to fighting wars for dominance. Kiba shoved a hand between them, undoing Gaara's pants in a flurry of groping clutches and messy kisses. Gaara bucked up, fingers pulling on Kiba's hair. The locks were thick around Gaara's fingers, and the texture fascinated him until Kiba's hand shoved down Gaara's jeans and beneath his boxers. A warm grip fisted Gaara and stroked, and Gaara's entire body arched and writhed.

"God I love you hard for me," Kiba muttered over Gaara's skin, and Gaara started to tell Kiba to shut up and get on with it, but Kiba startled him again by sitting up. In movements so fast Gaara could barely process them, Kiba bent and pulled Gaara's pants and underwear down to his knees. Kiba straddled Gaara's thighs, the muscles in his legs visibly moving beneath the snug, worn denim. Gaara stared until Kiba's fist wrapped around Gaara's dick again and stroked, and Gaara met the looming man's eyes, lips catching noises that Gaara didn't want to let go.

"Yer beautiful, Gaara." The words were a slow pronouncement accompanied by a panning sweep of focused gaze, and Gaara squirmed, scowling. His hands snagged the bedspread, and he started to rise -- to do anything to get away from that all-seeing stare -- but Kiba's palm shoved him onto the bed and Kiba's mouth chased Gaara down, trapping him flat on his back.

"Ya gonna fight me over the truth, baby?" Kiba asked and Gaara snarled: angry, lost, mortified.

"Stop fucking--" Gaara began, but Kiba lunged to close the distance between their mouths and he bit, incisor puncturing Gaara's lower lip. Gaara's body stilled and one of Gaara's hands froze on its way to shoving at the man atop of him, the other flailing to grip reflexively at Kiba's shoulder. The pain began as shock, and it knocked willpower out of Gaara entirely.

Kiba growled low in his throat, a fascinating rumbling noise, and he balanced on his knees while his hands went down to his belt. Gaara blinked and met Kiba's gaze in close quarters, saw the command there--

_Hold fuckin' still._

\--and obeyed it, staying where he was without a struggle. The pain lanced, delicious and hot, and something wet slipped down his chin.

Gaara whimpered and watched Kiba's eyes cloud.

A rasp of leather through denim sounded in the bedroom, and Gaara's cock twitched from inattention. Gingerly, Kiba's teeth increased their pressure until Gaara grunted, eyes scrunching shut, and his hands scrambled for purchase. He didn't push Kiba away, and he didn't pull him closer: he searched for something to hold onto else he fall into a deep well without bottom.

Kiba slowly let go, and bent to lick Gaara's chin. He hummed an appreciative noise, and Gaara gulped down air in harsh pants. He stared at Kiba's bloody mouth, watched a tongue lap it clean, and then Kiba's voice cut through the fog: "Put your wrists together and hold 'em up."

Gaara complied, limbs moving through molasses, and he watched as Kiba wrapped a belt around his arms. A tiny part of Gaara screamed in defiance: fought, scrambled, thrashed and tried to find surface. Gaara frowned, and made a quiet noise of fear because he didn't _want_ to listen to that harpy screech. He shoved it away and felt Kiba cinch the belt tight, using the belt holes and twisting the end under a loop.

"Put 'em above your head."

As Gaara obeyed, Kiba fell forward onto one hand. He reached and grasped Gaara's jaw and jerked it to one side, making Gaara's breathing stutter. Thought fractured further, his heart thudded, and hot air blew over his cheek.

"Fight me again, bitch, and I'll make yer damned dick bleed."

" _Oooh_ …" Gaara groaned, loud in the quiet room, and he didn't care.

"Better," Kiba praised, grip still tight on Gaara's jaw, and Gaara's pulse tripped to double time. "Gonna suck you now, gorgeous. And yer gonna come hard for me."

Gaara couldn't do anything but shut his eyes. The heat was going to stop his heart; he wasn't going to get off, he was doing to die before that happened. He lay loose and pliant on the bed, and blinked as he felt a trickle of fluid dribble on his stomach.

"Goddamn but I love you wantin' it," Kiba said, head shifting as he looked down. "That perfect cock 'a yours is beggin' me for it."

Mouth numb, Gaara nodded and froze when he figured out he was agreeing. By then it was too late, and Kiba's chuckle made Gaara's insides melt.

"Good, baby, good," Kiba husked, and Gaara held his breath and heard his pulse reach roaring fever pitch. Kiba moved down Gaara's body with a wet, rasping lick to Gaara's abused nipple. A soft cry escaped Gaara's lips and Kiba's breath blew over the dampness on Gaara's skin. There was time enough to tense while Kiba's hand circled Gaara's base. Blue-green eyes flew wide and stared at nothing as Kiba's tongue teased around the head of Gaara's cock. The pleasure felt alien: strange, terrifying, wonderful. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had done this; it'd been too long and was buried under too many memories.

Gaara had the chance to think he wasn't sure if he'd ever gotten blown in circumstances where he wanted it so badly he couldn't even say the words, give the order, agree to the request, and then his brain fritzed as heat and pressure engulfed him. He thought the hand job had been good; the dreams that made Gaara wake up in the middle of the night and jack off to find slumber and solace were constant reminders of just _how_ good.

But as Kiba found a fast rhythm -- lips tight, tongue mobile, and teeth sometimes dragging on the slide back up to crown -- Gaara cried out, shocked and unrestrained.

"Oh, _God_ …" Gaara yelled in time to Kiba's bobbing head. "Oh _fuck_ …oh shit… _Kiba_!"

The answering groan was cut off as Kiba swallowed Gaara deeply, and Gaara lost track of what the hell Kiba did after that. He flexed his hands in the belt trap, his hips bucked, and Gaara tried to roll on the bed. He didn't know why -- there was no space for reason when sensation crowded it out -- but some part of him screamed in desire for more and the desire to get away. The confusion _hurt_ , but Kiba's mouth made it go away. Kiba fought Gaara back down, rolled and worked with Gaara's arching, dancing body. The jeans restricted Gaara's legs, and he turned his head into his arm as Kiba's vice-like grip on his hips pressed him into the bed. It'd only been seconds that would fill entire nights in reverent memory, but Gaara felt his thighs tighten, his balls contract, his asshole clench.

"Oh," Gaara whimpered, helpless and small against the onslaught. He trembled, and Kiba's hand joined his mouth, searching relentlessly for endgame. Mouth on the head, tongue flicking the underside, fingers stroking, Kiba groaned and squeezed Gaara's hip. Gaara felt it like encouragement, and when Kiba let go to drag the back of his hand down Gaara's side in a gentle sweep at total odds with what Kiba did with his other hand and with his mouth, the tenderness was Gaara's unmaking.

Gaara's head thrashed from side to side, his teeth bit into the flesh of his arm, and he came with a loud, muffled yell that rose and fell with the waves of unforgiving bliss. Kiba swallowed with hungry, grunting noises, and Gaara shook all over and cried out again when sensation became too much.

Breathing amplified by the mattress against his cheek and ear, Gaara gasped and the bed spun like a top in the middle of the room. Gaara shivered while he tried to figure out gravity. Lips pressed to his hipbone, hands rid him of clothing, and the mattress shifted as Kiba got the top cover away from the head of the bed and wrapped it over them. Gaara felt the soft coverlet settle over him, brushing his naked body in a caress. Gaara blinked, slowly, and watched Kiba lay down next to him, the blanket cocooning as Kiba tugged it tighter. Moving onto his side to face Kiba, Gaara scrubbed at his chin to wipe it clear of dried blood. He swallowed on a thick throat and curled in on himself, bound arms and hands tucked into his chest. Kiba stroked Gaara's arm, and he made a quiet noise of protest when Gaara got himself out of the belt restraint with relative ease.

"Let me get--" Kiba said, reaching.

Gaara shook his head, jerked away, and tossed the belt aside. Kiba brushed back Gaara's sweaty red hair, and Gaara shivered. He wanted to ask Kiba to keep doing that because it felt so strangely good, but Kiba didn't need Gaara to say the words. Kiba's fingers raked through Gaara's hair, the only touch Gaara would allow him.

Gaara didn't know how long they lay there; Gaara with obscured gaze and Kiba with undemanding presence. Much like after the tryst at Bliss, Gaara's mind hummed with blank buzz, and he didn't want to come back to himself. That meant thinking, worrying about everything, nothing, and all points in between. That depth of confusion made him feel sick, and he shifted on the bed. Kiba started to tuck the blanket around him, and Gaara reached to catch Kiba's wrist. Gaara stared at his hand like it wasn't connected to his body and acted on its own accord. Kiba didn't fight Gaara, say anything, or move, and slowly, Gaara unwound to straighten on the bed. Even slower, he looked up, met Kiba's curiously tender gaze with eyes that asked unspoken questions and a body that tilted forward in hesitant inquiry.

"Yeah," Kiba said, nodding, his voice low and rough. Cautiously, Kiba shifted closer to Gaara. He bent one arm in a makeshift pillow, the other still in Gaara's grasp and making no move to undo it. It was dim in the room, but Gaara saw the gleam of Kiba's eyes as they searched his face.

_What am I doing?_

Ignoring the question, Gaara let go of Kiba's wrist and reached for the last three snaps of Kiba's shirt. He wanted to see and touch, so he would undo the shirt. _That_ was what he was doing. His movements were halting as Gaara waited for something within him to complain; as he waited for old wounds to open up or old fears to rear their heads.

But there was nothing; just Gaara's fingers on fabric and then the slide of cotton over skin as Gaara pushed back the shirt. Gaara put a hand on Kiba's chest; felt the hot skin and the heart pounding therein.

"Oh," Gaara whispered.

"Please…" Kiba said, and Gaara's eyes flicked to see Kiba's face laid bare in need and something like wonderment.

"Please?" Gaara rasped.

Kiba hesitated, and that threw Gaara. Kiba didn't back down or shy away from anything that Gaara could tell, and he frowned.

"Want yer touch," Kiba said softly. "Fuck, Gaara, please don't stop…"

Gaara didn't answer, but his hand shifted to cover a pectoral that flexed and jumped under Gaara's hand. Kiba wasn't as large as Jody, but he was twice Gaara's size, and Gaara let his hand slipping over Kiba's skin intoxicate him. He let it wash away the worry that at any moment Gaara would wake up and need to kill something or someone, and he concentrated on the texture of skin, hair, and moisture.

Kiba shuddered, sighed, and rolled with Gaara's hand, making Gaara's lips part. He looked up at Kiba's face, saw lowered lids and a dazed expression, and experimentally, Gaara let his fingers trail to Kiba's nipple. He pinched and pulled without pause, and Kiba's mouth formed a silent, " _Ah_ ," face crumpling.

"Tell me why," Gaara said so quietly he wasn't sure he spoke for a moment; thought maybe the words were in his mind.

"Because I want you," Kiba answered. "So damned bad…" He gasped as Gaara pinched skin harder. "Never…never thought…" Kiba's eyes closed, face in a grimace that Gaara read as pleasurable, and Gaara stared at the man in his bed who so obviously ached for him. That meant something. Something vital, nearly tangible, and understanding came closer and crackled in the air: became entangled with the way Kiba looked, smelled, felt, tasted.

Needing more, Gaara reached down and began to undo Kiba's jeans. Kiba's breath picked up speed, and his head turned slightly toward his arm and the mattress. He looked fragile, and that was fascinating, enticing, and almost…

"Beautiful," Gaara said.

Jade-dark eyes snapped open and the look on Kiba's face was so raw it slipped through the bars of the cage Gaara kept around his most vulnerable organ. They stared at one another, and the sound of the zipper's teeth unlocking was loud in Gaara's ears, and he watched Kiba nibble his lower lip while Gaara's hand pushed aside clothing. He felt Kiba shift and tremble, and Gaara shook his head. Kiba swallowed, and when Gaara's touch found the silken heat of Kiba's cock, Kiba began to breathe in fragmented, broken gasps that stuttered on the way out and held after he sucked back in.

"Please, oh God please…"

Gaara's eyes widened. This wasn't a seldom-returned favor in a bed usually left cold after needs were met with perfunctory touch that culminated in cash on the nightstand. Kiba wasn't a begging sub on the floor of Haze. Kiba was here on his own free will, asked for what he wanted, and the plea in his voice lacked artifice, fear, or calculation.

"Fascinating," Gaara murmured, and he freed Kiba's length and stroked from balls to crown, and Kiba moaned a sigh. Kiba reached for him; pulled them closer. Kiba's hips moved to Gaara's rhythm, the man's breath caught when Gaara wet his hand with saliva and returned palm to cock, pulling low sounds of want and need from Kiba's lips. Kiba's eyes were open, and he looked at Gaara, noses nearly brushing in the proximity. His hand clutched Gaara's bare hip, fingertips digging, and he choked on a noise when Gaara lightened his touch, moved his fist to the head, and slicked his thumb with pre-cum.

"Gaara," Kiba strangled, but Gaara silenced Kiba when he began tenderly stroking the webbing of connective tissue linking shaft to crown. Kiba's eyes got wider, and he pushed into the touch, seeking more.

"Please…can I…" Kiba cut himself off and brushed his lips over Gaara's, shoulders shaking. Gaara opened his mouth and let Kiba kiss and tongue him, and a low noise bubbled up and escaped Gaara's mouth to be swallowed by Kiba's. The cock in Gaara's hand dribbled wetness that added to the glide, and the shock of how much Kiba wanted him -- wanted this _with_ him -- made Gaara hurt in ways he didn't want to stop.

"Shit, Gaara," Kiba hissed over Gaara's swollen lips. "I can't…yer gonna… _nnnhg…fuck…"_

"I want to see you come," Gaara said, voice husky as he spoke the simple truth.

"Oh, fuck…fuck…fuck…" Kiba whispered the curses through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed tightly shut before they flew wide. The desperation there made Gaara change his strokes to long, fast, and firm over the entirety of Kiba's length, and Kiba stopped speaking and breathing for a frozen handful of thudding heartbeats.

 _"Gaara."_ The word was a near-unintelligible moan, and Kiba spilled over Gaara's fist, sprayed hot against Gaara's forearm and stomach, and quaked with his ending, gaze unseeing in the gray darkness of Gaara's bedroom.

With a soft noise that hinted of affection, Gaara rode the waves with Kiba and at long last withdrew his hand, wiping it casually on the covers. Kiba grabbed Gaara and pulled him close to bury Kiba's face in Gaara's neck. He held Gaara tightly, still trembling and breathing hard, and Gaara acted on instinct to return the embrace. The force of Kiba's need and reaction made Gaara feel stripped of a layer of skin, and he stroked Kiba's back, clutched at the shirt, and made a protesting sound when Kiba pulled away.

"Let's just…" Kiba kissed Gaara's cheek, fast and easy and like he did it all the time. Kiba bodily moved Gaara, the sensation making Gaara feel small and weak, but he didn't complain. Instead he worked with Kiba to get the blanket turned down and crawled with the other man to settle beneath it, heads on pillows.

"C'mere, sweetheart," Kiba said, pulling Gaara closer.

"Don't call me that." The words were thin, muffled by Kiba's chest against Gaara's face. Kiba still smelled too good, and darkness started to fade the edges of Gaara's vision. He was shocked by that for an instant -- that sleep could come without being dragged from dungeons and forced into compliance.

"Learn t'deal," Kiba muttered, drowsy and content.

"Damnable…man…" Gaara breathed, shuddering hard and then relaxing within the scarily comforting confines of Kiba's arms.

"Love you, too, sweetheart."

Gaara pretended he didn't hear the words, and together they rested.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Love Like Winter - AFI](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQJ49FoQ-ZA). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> It's in the blood.  
> I met my love before I was born.  
> He wanted love,  
> I taste of blood.  
> He bit my lip, and drank my warmth,  
> From years before, from years before.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love & soft words,  
> ♥Dee


	16. Chapter 16

Waking up in the darkness of an early winter evening with panic ringing in his ears was not something new to Gaara. In his life, there were many nights where a branch on a window became a trespasser in need of a gut wound; where Cat's gentle landing on Gaara's bed made him sit up and aim only to stare down a gun barrel at the animal's curious eyes.

Terror in the darkness was normal. However, hearing another person's breathing and realizing that despite the rising bile in the back of his throat, Gaara was hard and somewhat rested was a shock. Gaara patted the sheets: fisted, twisted and yanked on them to make sure they were real. The room stank of sex, and he pulled the covers back to look down at himself, saw the dangling fingers of another man's hand near his hip and the infuriating arousal below. Gaara dropped the blanket, brought his thumb to his mouth and bit. Hard.

The pain flared, and Gaara quietly gasped as other parts of his body lit up with dull aches. His neck felt tender, his nipple stung, and he tongued his swollen lower lip. He nibbled at the swell, made it hurt and bleed, and Gaara suckled at the blood. Gaara looked around the room, eyes searching for the impending disaster he felt breathing down his neck.

_Idiot, that's just Kiba._

And with the thought, a hundred invisible things attacked Gaara at once. His mind replayed every nuance and detail from the time he'd met Kiba until Kiba pulled Gaara close and they fell asleep in each others' arms. He heard moans, screams, a cry of, "I fucking stabbed you!"

Comfort warred with anger. Fear fought with denial. Better sense decked desire. Vince, Jody, Sora, Haku, and Itachi crowded Gaara's brain. Uncle's smile flashed, Father cried over Gaara's dead mother, and Gaara began to rock when he heard the rustle of bleeding wings.

_Help…me…_

"Shh," said a voice, and a large, warm body wrapped around Gaara. The first instinct was to fight it, and Gaara flinched hard. He jerked his shoulders and upper body away from the embrace, struggling.

"Not gonna shake me that easy, baby," Kiba husked, and his grip tightened. He pulled Gaara back against his chest and pet Gaara's hair.

"Why?" Gaara asked through clenched teeth.

"Because yer the only thing that matters t'me."

Clarity surfaced, and Gaara swallowed. "I'm not well."

"I know," Kiba answered, stroking Gaara's hair.

"No you don't." Gaara scowled. "You couldn't."

"Then explain it t'me."

Gaara shook his head, reason and rationale went under the riptide, and Gaara tried to curl into a ball, but Kiba's leg and arms wrapped tighter. It became hard to breathe, and Gaara had to focus on oxygen. One hand came up and clung to Kiba's wrist, nails digging into the skin.

"Let go," Gaara ordered.

"No." Kiba's voice was firm, and it made Gaara shudder. "Ain't lettin' go. Told you: ya can't shake me."

"I can't breathe," Gaara gasped, struggling.

"Yes you can," Kiba said, and now his voice was gentle. It made Gaara thrash, but a warm hand slipped, shifted, and rested on his chest. "Do it with me."

"What?" Gaara hissed.

"Breathe, sweetheart."

"Fuck…fuck you…" Gaara said the words, shut his eyes, and held air trapped in his lungs until Kiba exhaled. Gaara did it with him, taking the following breath with Kiba.

"Good, baby, good."

"Goddammit," Gaara spat as they breathed out together. "Stop…saying…"

Kiba snarled a warning, and Gaara went quiet. Kiba grunted once and kissed behind Gaara's ear, hand still over Gaara's breastbone and heart.

"That's it…" Kiba encouraged. "You can--"

"Let me go," Gaara nearly begged as he strained against Kiba's embrace, air returned and sanity fracturing. Kiba growled, Gaara froze, and he made a sound that was awful in its truth when Kiba's hand moved from Gaara's chest to his cock. Kiba's fingers wrapped around Gaara's length, which had gone soft in his panic and ensuing struggle but went hard at the mere touch. Desire spiked and made Gaara dizzy, and Gaara didn't know what he hated more: the reaction or the welling need that came with it. It was all stupid, insane--

"Crazy," Gaara grunted.

"Yeah, ya are," Kiba agreed. His other arm shoved under Gaara, making Gaara wince and then rest on the bend of Kiba's elbow beneath Gaara's head. A hot palm covered Gaara's chest, the other hand held his cock, and Gaara felt trapped between tortures.

"Talk to me," Kiba said as he deliberately expanded his diaphragm, and Gaara followed suit until his breathing hitched with a slow stroke up his shaft.

"How?" Gaara gasped, trying to shut down the screaming in his mind and not knowing how in the hell he was to find words amidst the chaos.

"Tell me somethin' honest."

Another breath, another stroke, and Gaara shut his eyes, trying to turn away from the rumbling, melodic, heated timbre that made Gaara want to answer, to obey, to do anything it asked.

"I hate you," Gaara whispered.

"Try again, sweetheart," Kiba said, but he didn't sound angry. His hand, however, stopped stroking.

"I hate it when you call me that." Gaara twitched his hips, but Kiba went along for the ride, merely holding Gaara's dick instead of doing anything useful with it.

"Third time's gotta be the fuckin' charm," Kiba grumbled.

Gaara's eyes opened, and the hand over his chest pressed in a light squeeze that made Gaara want to sob or scream or both. He couldn't fight and wasn't sure he wanted to in the first place. Kiba held him; Gaara couldn't get away, and it left him armed with only his insanity and betraying body. Frantically, Gaara searched darkness trying to see something true when all he felt were confusing lies. The windows along the wall were covered in their heavy drapes. The house was oppressively silent, making the thud of Gaara's blood obnoxiously noisy. He tensed in Kiba's arms, but Kiba responded with him: muscles dancing where they pressed against Gaara. The smell of strawberries filled Gaara's nostrils, sweat made Gaara's skin slippery within Kiba's grasp, and in a crazy flash of misplaced lust, Gaara realized Kiba had shed his jeans and shirt, leaving him wearing only boxers. The skin-on-skin felt so damned good, and Gaara didn't know what to do with the sensory input.

"You're warm," Gaara said, words flying from his lips as both observation and complaint.

"Ooh, there we go," Kiba said quietly, and his hand slid along Gaara's cock. The sound the attention pulled from Gaara echoed in the room, and Gaara felt out of his mind. He wasn't _going_ nuts, he was already there: nobody did this to him and lived. Nobody got this close. Nobody held him down, made him do anything, and then jerked him off like some sort of fucking reward. Gaara couldn't sort out body from brain from past to present, and he twisted in Kiba's hold when Kiba stopped stroking.

"I've killed people for less than this," Gaara rasped.

"Good," Kiba praised and stroked Gaara again. He stopped when Gaara bucked into Kiba's hand.

"Why the fuck are you doing this?" Gaara asked, exasperated and terrified.

"To calm ya down, t'make you listen, to help ya out, and hopefully to make ya feel good once you stop fightin' me 'cause yer thinkin' too much."

Gaara froze, tense and taut, and he panted until Kiba's hand on his chest pushed them together and encouraged Gaara to breathe with Kiba.

"What?" Gaara whispered.

"I'm doin' what I always do with you," Kiba said in Gaara's ear, kissing the shell. "Gettin' through the walls so I can touch the real man buried under 'em."

Gaara frowned, eyes burning holes in the drapes with his focused stare. He breathed with Kiba -- let the other man take charge of the rhythm of lung and diaphragm -- and Gaara reviewed his time with Kiba again, inklings of color bleeding into the black and white images. Life became a chessboard, and Gaara saw Kiba's moves with brilliant lines connecting them: the scene with Itachi, the way he used violence, the DJ booth, the letters, the gifts, the threats, the tenderness. Understanding swelled in a wave that threatened to swallow Gaara whole. The entire exchange, carefully orchestrated; a dance. He swallowed a sigh and felt buoyant on the tide of change Kiba apparently controlled.

"Aren't you…tired?" Gaara asked before he could feel angry or stupid or worse.

"No," Kiba answered, stroking again. Gaara shivered, and Kiba kissed the back of Gaara's neck. "I ain't tired 'a tryin' for ya, and I ain't gonna get tired. Not after all I went through t'get here, sweetheart." Gaara felt a smile form against his neck, and Gaara denied the noise that tried to bubble up his throat. "I want _you_ , Gaara, an' I know some 'a what that means. Ya ain't easy, but I don't want easy. It's the hard shit that matters, and I'm willin' to work and hurt for ya."

Gaara strangled on a shocking sob and closed his eyes; this wasn't him, this wasn't happening. He couldn't possibly want something this goddamned much. His uncle had told him no one would ever love him like Uncle did; his father had told him Gaara wasn't worthy of anything. Gaara knew those men were long gone, their influence with them, and knew the sentiments weren't true. But the desire for someone else--

_For him…for Kiba…_

\--to want him hurt, it _burned_ ; it made Gaara feel everything all at once.

"Easy, baby, I got ya." Kiba made them breathe again, and Gaara bit his bloodied lip. "I said all this before," Kiba said, voice much softer, kinder, gentler than anyone should ever be with Gaara. "But this time, I think ya might be hearin' me."

"I don't know if I should hurt you or not," Gaara said, feeling ill. "Don't know if I will…"

"'sokay if you do, and all right if ya don't," Kiba answered. "I'll like it no matter what." He dragged a nail over the head of Gaara's cock, and Gaara called out.

"I don't mean a goddamned Scene, Kiba," Gaara managed, eyes squeezed shut while his hips bucked into Kiba's hand.

"I know. Ya already stabbed me, remember?" The words were playful but the caress of lips over Gaara's skin was serious.

"I…" Gaara shook his head, frowning, and then Gaara was on his back, arm pinned under the weight of Kiba's side, other hand palm-up and open on the mattress. Kiba stopped stroking and slipped his touch down to grasp and squeeze Gaara's balls. Gaara's back arched, and one heel dug into the mattress as he stared uncomprehendingly at Kiba.

"Damn," Kiba said, frowning. "That lip's pretty bad."

Gaara swallowed, and wondered if he was having an out of body experience. He almost wanted that -- but Kiba squeezed his nuts and made Gaara gasp.

"I don't care," Gaara said.

"I know," Kiba answered, mouth forming a smirk while his fingers caressed in response to the truth. "But I do. Part 'a wantin' ya makes me wanna take care 'a you. However you need me to do it." Kiba's eyes searched Gaara's. "Even when ya ain't got a clue that ya need carin'." Kiba studied him until Gaara squirmed, and Gaara saw Kiba's expression grow intent and focused. Watching so closely that Gaara felt terribly transparent, Kiba quested lower and his fingers slid between Gaara's cheeks, length of his middle finger pressing over Gaara's entrance. Gaara's hand shot down and wrapped around Kiba's wrist with bruising force before he even knew what he did.

Kiba's eyes narrowed, and Gaara felt frantic. "Who hurt you, baby?" Kiba asked: quiet, patient, tender.

"Everybody," Gaara croaked. For an instant Gaara watched Kiba as though he were the only thing in the world: the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way his lips turned up at the corners, the eyes that put gemstones to shame, the bump in the bridge of his nose, the long line of jaw and chin, his neck, shoulders, arms.

Gaara saw the expression on Kiba's face go from curiously cunning to caring, and hatred spread in oil slicks over Gaara's heart and fear lit the match that set it ablaze. He twisted, bringing up a knee aimed at Kiba's groin. Kiba managed to deflect the hit, making it glance instead of land, and Kiba snarled a string of curses. He grappled Gaara's leg between his own, trapping it. Gaara made a frustrated sound, but Kiba caught Gaara's other hand when it came up to smack over Kiba's ear, shoving to pin Gaara flat on the bed and laying on top of him.

"Get the fuck off of--"

Kiba kissed Gaara and Gaara felt Kiba let go of his wrists. Gaara started to shove Kiba but got distracted by the gentle brush of lips; by the slow slide of a hand moving under his neck to cradle his head. Instead of fighting, Gaara lay still, wondering at himself.

_Oh God…this feels…_

Turning his head, Gaara opened his mouth, and Kiba moaned into it. Gaara's eyelids fluttered shut as Kiba kissed him in that all-consuming way that paralyzed Gaara as he never knew the wet slip of lip on lip could bypass all reason or lack thereof.

"Thank you," Kiba said breathlessly when he finally pulled back.

"For kneeing you in the balls?" Gaara asked, confused.

Kiba laughed. "Fer answering me."

"I don't understand you," Gaara pleaded.

"I know," Kiba said, and he traced the line of Gaara's jaw. "Ya don't have to, and God, but I love ya under me 'n honest." Kiba ground their hips together, wincing as he did so, balls still tender from the near miss with Gaara's knee.

" _Nngh_ \-- no, you shouldn't--" Gaara gasped, but Kiba ignored him, rolling again. Gaara didn't like the pained expression on Kiba's face -- which he realized was ludicrous, but it was also true, and in Gaara's experience, the truth did tend to sound impossible. He wrapped his legs around Kiba's waist, immediately regretting the move as Kiba took it as encouragement.

"Fuck," Kiba hissed, and his mouth pressed to Gaara's neck.

"Damn it…" Gaara husked, body wanting and brain drawn-and-quartered.

"I love you crazy," Kiba muttered into Gaara's skin. "Fucked up, fightin', wantin' shit and angry 'bout it."

The next roll dragged noise from both men, and Gaara clutched at Kiba's back, panting at the friction, the weight, the way he got lost in Kiba.

"Makin' ya bleed, bleedin' for ya, holdin' ya down, doin' anything you'll let me… _gah_ …"

Kiba's teeth nipped over tender skin, and Gaara's eyes squeezed shut as he fought with himself. The internal battle pushed him closer to Kiba -- pushed him closer to the understanding wrapped around what Kiba did and inspired and made Gaara feel -- and he wanted and needed with equal abandon.

"Won't get sick of it or you, baby. Don't know what -- _ah!_ \-- hurt ya. Know it was bad--"

"Shut up," Gaara moaned, head turning and hand pressing Kiba's face into his neck. "Fuck, shut--"

"No," Kiba growled. A hand dug into Gaara's hair and pulled. Gaara's neck snapped back further, and he arched into Kiba, cock leaking. He could feel Kiba hardening beneath the softness of the boxers, and the angle Kiba forced made it nearly impossible to breathe. Kiba licked up the front of Gaara's throat.

" _Nngod_ …Kiba…" Gaara gasped.

"Want my hand again, sweetheart?" Kiba mumbled, teeth tracing Gaara's trachea.

"Yes," Gaara hissed.

"Wanna come for me again, baby?"

" _Yes_ ," Gaara half-yelled.

Kiba spoke into the hollow made by Gaara's collar bones: "Then tell me ya like what I call you."

Gaara wheezed and choked as he felt Kiba shift to work a hand between them. Gaara's legs tightened around Kiba's waist, making Kiba grunt and nibble at Gaara's throat. When seconds passed and Gaara didn’t answer, the hand in his hair pulled harder on his scalp.

Shivering, memory told Gaara what happened when he did as Kiba asked. "I like it," Gaara said, voice a thin, watery version of its usual self.

"Good, baby, good," Kiba crooned, and Gaara couldn't work up words to protest.

"Tell me ya wanna feel my cock against yers."

Gaara's lips parted, and his eyes slid closed while Kiba manipulated clothing and himself, pausing when he was done to wait for Gaara's response. Heartbeats, rushed breathing, the smell of sweat and the heavy press of tangible body and intangible patience, and finally Gaara found his tongue and the words on them. "I want…to feel…" Gaara whispered and couldn't say the rest, so he whined low in his throat.

"Oh, sweetheart, that's perfect," Kiba praised, voice strained with emotions that were not pleasure or pain, but Gaara didn't try to figure that out; didn't have to. Instead, he shuddered when Kiba's palm wrapped around Gaara and himself, and gasped when Kiba thumbed through the beaded moisture at Gaara's head. The pleasure knocked the remaining air from Gaara's lungs, and his mouth opened in a silent cry. Kiba rocked into Gaara, rubbing and stroking and moving, and Gaara trembled like a lone desert tree in the face of an impossible hurricane.

"So fuckin' incredible, Gaara. The way ya move, sound, smell…" Kiba kissed Gaara's bared throat, reverent and chaste. He let go of himself in lieu of stroking Gaara, faster and harder. Unable to move and caught by Kiba's hand in his hair and torso against his, Gaara groaned an unintelligible sound of encouragement, body writhing in prelude to another release. He felt connected -- crazily, wonderfully, bizarrely connected -- to Kiba in that instant: like Kiba could do anything and Gaara couldn't fight it. And wouldn't want to.

"Tell me ya like the way this feels."

"Like it," Gaara said, shaking and so close he caught the pleasure with his back teeth.

"Tell me who's lovin' you, baby."

"You…" Gaara gasped as Kiba's hand on him moved just so and Gaara's body tensed.

"My name, sweetheart. Call my name." The gentleness in the command shoved a noise up from Gaara's gut and into the air around the moving men, and he loved that he didn't care; loved that there was only Kiba's voice, Kiba's touch, Kiba's rhythm and the way Kiba annihilated everything but the good.

" _Kiba_ ," Gaara moaned in compliance, coming again and helpless against it. His body went rigid as he rode sensation, and a contented sigh filled Gaara's ears.

"Good, baby, so, so good." Kiba took Gaara through peaks and valleys, letting go of his hair and cock at the same time. Carefully, he settled between Gaara's legs, turning Gaara's face into a kiss. Gaara managed to kiss back before he breathed in ragged pants over Kiba's lips, and the other man swiped his mouth over Gaara's, gentle and reassuring.

"Here for you any time ya need it, sweetheart," Kiba husked, and the way he nuzzled at Gaara's cheek made Gaara wrap arms around Kiba's head to hold the man still. They breathed and held one another until Kiba rose up, smiling. "I--"

The front door opened. "Gaara?" Jody bellowed. "It's me."

Gaara and Kiba lay still, and Gaara frowned when Kiba made a small noise of what Gaara thought might be panic.

"Boss?" Jody said, giving plenty of warning. "Everybody doin' okay?"

Absently, Gaara wondered at the turn of phrase; he couldn't imagine Jody would be too upset if Kiba weren't breathing. Or shocked, for that matter.

"We're in--" Gaara started to call back, but Kiba made a distracting distressed sound.

"What?" Gaara asked.

"Nothin'," Kiba slurred, sliding off Gaara. "I was really hopin' for somethin' to kill the fuckin' mood."

Gaara snorted, watching Kiba roll to the side while Gaara slipped off the bed, pausing for a second while his legs grew steadier. He was a sticky, cum-covered mess, but Jody'd seen worse. At least it wasn't blood, bile, or brains. Gaara stretched his neck, resolutely pushing everything aside other than the task at hand, and he walked toward the bedroom door. Behind him Kiba made another noise, and Gaara looked over his shoulder just as Jody walked into the room.

"Boss, I…" Jody cut off mid-sentence, eyebrows going impossibly high on his forehead as he looked from Gaara's nude body to the bed. Gaara turned to see Kiba raise one arm in a mockery of a wave before he groaned and covered his face with both hands.

"Ho-ly shit…" Jody muttered.

"What?" Gaara asked, wondering if Jody was more surprised to see Kiba alive or to see that Gaara was finally, as Jody would put it, gettin' some. Gaara'd never had someone who wasn't a one-night stand, a whore, a dealer, a contract, or a sub. Most of them never made it to his bed, and none of those options had been in Gaara's life in ages. Head tilting as he considered, Gaara supposed he could understand why Jody stood slack-jawed and blinking at the sight of a mostly-naked Kiba. It was hard for Gaara to fathom kissing Kiba when his brain wasn't clouded with post-coital white noise. But thinking like that made the buzz go away, so Gaara resolutely didn't reflect.

"Uh…" Jody said, shaking his head.

Gaara crossed his arms, staring at Jody.

"N-nothin', boss…" Jody mumbled.

"Fuckin' A," Kiba complained, grabbing a pillow and covering his head with it. He formed a fist and punched at his own face, and Gaara frowned, thinking that would be more effective without the pillow in the way.

"You, ah, okay?" Jody asked.

"Fine," Gaara answered.

There was a moment of silence. "Right," Jody said as Kiba punched the pillow again. "There's somethin' you need to see, boss." Jody sighed, entire body changing as he focused on business. "Somethin' not good."

Without another word, Gaara walked past Jody to his closet. If Jody needed Gaara to see something that he defined as unpleasant, then Gaara needed clothing, shoes, and a weapon. He donned the first two and grabbed the Glock off the shelf, shoving it in the back of his pants.

"What's wrong?" Kiba asked in the hallway, hopping on one leg to get into his pants.

"The Dogs," Jody said darkly, and Gaara looked at his old friend, anxiety stirring again.

"The guys who threatened you at the shop?" Kiba asked.

Gaara nodded.

"Eyah," Jody said, turning to Kiba. "And you should come to. I'm…" Jody licked his lips, frowned, and ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm awful sorry you're mixed up in our mess to be frank and honest 'bout it."

"Jody." Gaara's tone sliced air, and immediately Jody headed for the front door. Gaara followed, Kiba on his heels and pulling on his shirt. Jody and Gaara left Kiba yanking on his shoes and made their way out of the house, down the walk, and to the garage. Jody keyed in the code, Gaara waited with his brain on mute but with worry rumbling his insides. It was the same unfortunate mix he'd felt back at the shop while he waited on Kiba to arrive, and Gaara gnawed on the inside of his swollen lower lip.

"The hell did he do to your mouth, boss?"

Gaara shrugged, and Jody didn't ask again. "Dogs were busy while I was down at the station and you two were…doin' what you were doin'. I'm…concerned."

Gaara leveled a look at the bigger man.

"I got right to be," Jody said. "You'll see…" Jody walked ahead of Gaara in the garage and hit the button to raise one of the metal doors. Gaara registered Kiba's arrival and the three men waited while the mechanism above their heads cranked. Gaara saw the Charger and realized what had happened a second before Kiba did.

"What in the ever-loving blue _fuck_?" Kiba cried as he ran outside.

The Charger was stripped. The tires were gone, blocks under the axels, the paint was scratched and engraved with various Devil Dog phrasing. The seats were ripped out, the mirrors taken off, and Gaara saw the way the hood didn't quite meet center. It was a safe bet that the engine was missing more than a few parts or had at least been rendered defunct.

Kiba stood with his hands in fists, staring with a dropped jaw.

A strange mixture of emotion bubbled in Gaara's stomach. He was angry, yes, and frustrated -- the latter mostly at himself for not hearing anything or having the forethought to tell Kiba to park in the garage. He'd been so distracted by Kiba that he didn't even consider that the Dogs were nearby and, upon seeing Gaara's security system, they would quickly decide to attack and do what damage they could. Probably the only thing that spared the glass of the car's windows or Gaara's house was the Dogs' desire not to be caught.

"Fuck," Kiba said, the volume shocking Gaara. Kiba lifted his fists like he wanted to throw a punch but didn't have a target.

"We'll fix 'er up, Kiba," Jody said steadily. "Absolutely free of charge. Make her better than new, if you like. Could do some nice things to a body like this one."

Kiba merely nodded, dumbstruck and shaking. He cursed quietly under his breath, and it sounded helpless to Gaara's ears. Slowly Gaara turned his head to look at the man who not five minutes ago brought Gaara to orgasm and called him incredible. Kiba's jade eyes were wide, his shoulders tensed before they slumped, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Only three of the buttons were done on his red-orange shirt, and Gaara thought he must be cold. Thought Kiba looked good, was struck again by how handsome the man was, even like this, and Gaara didn't like the numbed expression that blanketed Kiba's face. Gaara watched Kiba and felt something churning that made Gaara silently gasp, a victim of its intensity.

"Boss?" Jody asked, taking a step closer, hands out like he was ready to catch. Gaara scowled at that before he realized he swayed on his feet. He widened his stance, struggling to breathe as his head began to ache.

God _damn_ those assholes for hurting this car: a beautiful machine, an obviously well-loved possession, something Kiba could be proud of and care about. And now it was in ruins because Kiba had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fault and blame filled Gaara in an agonizing wave, and one of his hands covered his breastbone, rubbing. Because Kiba had promised Jody to keep an eye on Gaara, the Dogs had done what they could to strike at something that Gaara cared about.

Wait…

"Gaara?" Jody asked, but Gaara barely heard him, brain working furiously. Something was wrong with his logic: the car belonged to Kiba, not Gaara. He shouldn't be so upset over all this. They could fix it; would fix it. It would be all right, and Kiba didn't need to look so defeated and angry and stunned. Didn't need to look so damned--

"Hurt," Gaara said.

"Say what, now?" Jody asked, voice careful. "What hurts?"

"Those mother. Fuckers." Gaara growled, loudly and with sudden vehemence, and Jody took a step back.

"Boss…?" Jody sounded uncertain.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Kiba asked, coming closer, and when Gaara felt a hesitant touch on his shoulder -- felt Kiba's hand cooled by the crisp air -- Gaara hated that Kiba was outside and cold and suffering. Hated that Kiba's left shoe wasn't quite on his foot and that Kiba was out here instead of back in Gaara's bed; hated that he had to ask how _Gaara_ was fucking doing when it was Kiba's damned car that took the brunt of the first assault wave.

Gaara despised that Kiba was collateral damage, and for the first time, Gaara felt that damage like it happened to _him_. In a mean and cruel instant, Gaara wished someone would just shoot him; getting shot was nothing in comparison to the rage and the fear that felt like fire and ice in Gaara's veins.

With a vicious twist, Gaara yanked away from Kiba's touch, reached into the waist of his jeans, and pulled out the nine. He aimed up into the air, thumbed off the safety, and fired into the night. The steady crack of weaponry soothed Gaara's frayed nerves, and he emptied the clip, the trigger clicking once before Gaara stopped squeezing. He didn't realize he was yelling until the silence invaded his senses again, and he clacked his teeth shut on the roaring wail coming from the bottom of his soul.

"Boss," Jody said, a call and question and request all in one. Gaara swiveled his gaze to glare at the man. Jody returned the look and flashed him a "V" with two fingers.

Lowering the gun and aiming at the ground, Gaara grinded his teeth and returned the gesture to show Jody that he was in his right mind. As right as it ever got, anyway. He looked around for Kiba and found Kiba near the fence, crouching low to the ground with his arms up to protect his head. The white glow thrown by the safety lights cast Kiba's face in shadow, but watchful eyes regarded Gaara, waiting.

"I will fucking kill them for taking away my peace," Gaara said, evenly and calmly. Kiba waited a handful of seconds and nodded.

Without another word, Gaara stalked back toward the garage, knowing he couldn't hunt the bastards tonight. He soothed the rage with promises of blood, oaths of vengeance, and images of the broken and battered.

Jody and Kiba followed Gaara in silence, and Gaara felt eyes on his back as the garage door lowered behind them.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Oh my… oh my, my, MY. I do love that Kiba does, in fact, have a sense of self preservation. When Gaara actually started *firing* guns, he did what a sane person should and dove for cover. But can we have a moment of silence for that Charger? Ooooh… it broke my heart to hurt it. Truly.
> 
> ∞ But kids? Shit's gonna go _down_ now. Ain't nobody messin' with a car on Gaara's watch. Especially not Kiba's baby. :D
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Always - Saliva](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S3_x3ci49Mk). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> I love you  
> I hate you  
> I can't get around you  
> I breathe you  
> I taste you  
> I can't live without you  
> I just can't take any more  
> this life of solitude
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love & vendettas,  
> ♥Dee


	17. Chapter 17

Gaara walked into the bar and memory invaded his nostrils, flooded his ears, and socked him in the gut. He used to spend a lot of time in Deathtoll, but that was ages of recovery ago; back when he still did lines of blow off toilet tanks. Tucked at the end of a bad street in a worse part of town, Deathtoll was not a place for weak wills or sensitive stomachs. The food was as likely to kill you as to feed you; the proprietor and Jody's friend, Sphinx, as likely to shoot you as to serve you.

Gaara had always felt right at home.

With a low grunt, Gaara glared death at the girl in bad red vinyl who made eye contact with him, and she looked away as Gaara began to weave across the room. People crowded in on all sides, and Gaara's shoulders tightened. He hugged his leather jacket closer, felt cold comfort in the press of the side-holstered gun. Gaara caught rapid movement out of the corner of his eye and watched as a man got thrown unceremoniously over a table, plastic beer mugs bouncing and spilling contents everywhere. People jerked away in unison like scared animals, clearing a circle for the ensuing brawl.

"The fuck?" screeched the guy on the floor. Another guy with bright blue-green hair, heavily muscled bare arms, and a vicious sneer stood over the fallen man, eyes gleaming with a mania Gaara recognized and respected.

"Oh, I'll tell you what the--" Blue Hair began, fists raised to go in for the kill.

"Out."

Everyone flinched as a man with a linebacker build and black t-shirt loomed over the upturned chairs and soggy puddles. He held a short barrel shotgun, and though the business end was aimed at the floor, patrons took a collective breath and another step back.

"Whatever," the fallen man muttered, getting up and swaying once before staggering toward the door. Blue Hair turned and stalked off, pushing his way through the crowd, and the bouncer watched, expression blank. Finally, he turned beady black eyes on Gaara.

"Sabaku."

"Devin."

"You here for Sphinx?"

Gaara shook his head precisely once.

"Have a nice evening, then." The bouncer headed to his post, and a path cleared for him. Gaara took the opportunity to scan the bar, but didn't see the familiar bald, scarred shape of another ex-Saint. No matter, really; Gaara knew who he needed and where the man would be.

Gaara trailed after Blue Hair, scowling when the press of bodies rubbed against him as people resumed their flow from bar to table to various entertainments. There were many things about Deathtoll that Gaara enjoyed, but he had to admit that Glow's space and atmosphere made it easier to breathe.

Along the wall opposite the entrance was a long line of booths. Gaara headed to the one closest to the hallway with doors leading to the kitchen and emergency exit. The bench Gaara could see was empty, and he walked up, turned on a heel, and slid into it. He kept his hands on the table, let his jacket spread to show what he packed, and watched cool gray eyes go from deadly dull to vaguely interested.

"My, my," Urahara Kisuke said with a tilt of his head that put his face into the shadow of his hat's brim. "You look remarkably nothing like anyone I'm slated to meet tonight."

"You're the man who knows things," Gaara replied.

"And you appear to be a man interested in doing things," Kisuke answered, retrieving his teacup and taking a small sip. Gaara didn't know what was more intriguing: someone like Kisuke imbibing tea or someone like Sphinx stocking the cups in which to serve it.

"Yes," Gaara said, thinking Kisuke's assessment to be one of the truer ones in Gaara's life.

Cheap china clinked and silence swayed. Kisuke met Gaara's unflinching gaze head on, and Gaara liked the man more for it. Finally thin lips twitched into a smirk. "I confess, I'm a rather terrible telepath."

Gaara waited for Kisuke to continue, analyzing again what he knew of the man before him; recalling dark hours spent at Deathtoll's bar, observing. He thought of Neji, Kakashi, Ibiki, and Nagato; saw people and politics in a web of intrigue where players were spiders, and Kisuke? He was a brown recluse.

Gray eyes narrowed. "I've heard you're rather the silent type, Sabaku."+

"Yes."

Another pause. "Is your intention to make me guess your circumstances or needs?"

"No," Gaara said, shifting to lean closer. Kisuke mimicked the movement, expression aggravatingly playful, but Gaara ignored the mask. "There's a pack of wild dogs in town. They keep shitting in my yard. I'm looking for their den."

Kisuke's stare focused, and it was eerily familiar. "Goodness, that does sound like a most treacherous grievance." Gaara didn't see the need to reply. Kisuke continued to study Gaara for a long moment filled with bad rock music and grating chatter.

"Interesting that you bring such a matter to a lowly clerk like me," Kisuke said. "I rather thought that someone in your echelon and of your sudden standing would have well-equipped and more," Kisuke considered, " _Humane_ pest control."

Gaara twitched his head in a negative. "The bitches bit a friend of mine," he revealed, the words foul on his tongue.

Kisuke's eyebrows went up and down. "Oh dear," he said with a cluck of his tongue. "True and intact friends are so difficult to come by these days." Kisuke sat back, sipped his tea, and regarded Gaara over the rim. "It's always such a shame to involve them, isn't it?"

"Yes." Gaara squinted at Kisuke, hearing something beneath the coy banter that might have been truth or might just be more artifice.

A smile split Kisuke's lips, chilly and crisp as new fallen snow. "So you come to those less valuable to you. How eternally flattering."

"There's not much that is valuable to me," Gaara admitted, wanting to wince at the honesty in that sentiment.

_"I love you under me and honest…"_

Gaara closed his eyes on the sound of wings, and when he opened them again, Kisuke's expression was thoughtful and something else that Gaara didn't understand.

Kisuke took off his hat and brushed blond bangs from his forehead. "I do believe I would be remiss to let an opportunity to assist someone such as yourself aid someone like me."

Nails bit into Gaara's palm. "I don't need help."

"You're here." Kisuke gestured vaguely at the bar. "This is, I do believe, you asking for favors."

"I need information," Gaara gritted, swallowing anger.

Kisuke hummed and rested his chin on a fist. "Gracious, dear boy, but it seems to me that your definitions and the lines between your laws are quite thin."

"And I don't need your goddamned opinions." Gaara struggled to hold still, to keep his hands where Kisuke could see them, to silence the cries for blood and pain that circulated through his brain. "This isn't an exchange. This is you telling me what I want to know."

Kisuke's eyes widened momentarily, and he smiled again, the edge of pity curving his lips, and Gaara grimaced as a bullet hole appeared between Kisuke's brows: a dribble of wet slipping to his nose in a delusion of insatiable greed.

"I fear you are incorrect, Sabaku," Kisuke continued, unharmed in everyone else's version of reality. "And perhaps forgetful of your old ways, as no one knows more about the price we pay for breath than you."

"Fuck you," Gaara muttered, and moved to get up.

"Sit," Kisuke spat, the word alien in its lack of polite poetry. Gaara wavered, glared, and sank down onto the cushion again.

"Good man," Kisuke said. Gaara snarled, and froze when a cold hand clasped his in a crazily gentle squeeze. He blinked down at the touch; wondered why in the hell it soothed him and got lost on the road of rationalization.

"To the brink we all strive, to the edge we see, and only the brave plant feet on soil and call havoc to the evil that won't let us be."

It wasn't a nursery rhyme, and Gaara didn't understand the whispered words, but he felt their cadence like a rhythm that coursed through his veins. He looked out into the sea of people and saw chips of jade in the eyes of a stranger who glanced his way.

"You'll tell me, then?" Gaara asked, voice dull and small.

"I will."

Gaara swiveled to stare down Kisuke. "Let go."

Kisuke smiled, gentle in a field of violence: "You first."

Gaara hissed at the traitorous hand that left red marks on skin as pale as Gaara's. He unwound his clutch, Kisuke released Gaara's wrist, and then the blond started talking.

And Gaara listened.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Yep. That's Kisuke. ...Eeeyup. *sips gin*
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song (and the song for the next two chapters as well) is: [We're In This Together Now - Nine Inch Nails](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bBVzER6GsM). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> you and me  
> we're in this together now  
> none of them can stop us now  
> we will make it through somehow  
> you and me  
> if the world should break in two  
> until the very end of me  
> until the very end of you
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love & info gathering,  
> ♥Dee


	18. Chapter 18

Sitting in Beast's quiet interior made Gaara itch for noise. An unopened bottle of Jack sat in the floorboards, a Sig lay on the bench seat, peering out from beneath Gaara's discarded jacket, and Gaara glowered at the shitty house at the end of Turnsmill Street as though waiting for a sign. His hands in black gloves rubbed over the steering wheel, and the cold night air seeped through the cracks around heavy metal doors and snuck up Gaara's spine in a shivery caress.

_Too easy._

The wide front window framed by fallen shutters showed men in a room filled with ripped lounge chairs, milk crates, and cement blocks. Vince paced to and fro in a dirty white undershirt and jeans, bottle of vodka in his hand. A figure -- male or female, Gaara didn't know or care -- stumbled to cling to Vince's side, lips and tongue meeting in a dance of dominance; a ritual of preparation.

_Lazy. Stupid. It'd take less than a minute._

Gaara reached for the half-empty bottle of Coke, sipping the warm liquid and hating the fizz. He screwed on the cap, tossed the container to the floor where it rolled into the whiskey, and Gaara stared at the clock on the dash that told him it was half-past the witching hour as he slid fingertips toward his weapon of choice.

A rap on the window made Gaara lunge, spin, and take aim through glass before the words, "Cop" or "Unlicensed weapon" could cut through the fog of panic. A big man in a dark hooded sweatshirt didn't flinch as Gaara lined up barrel to nose, and when Gaara recognized the kicked-puppy glare, he flicked the safety on the Sig and dropped it into his lap.

Gaara sighed. Jody rapped knuckles again, and Gaara cursed. He wrenched the door handle, and Jody stood back while Gaara climbed out into the pitch darkness of a misty sleet night.

"Boss," Jody said, hands shoved into the hoodie's pouch. Gaara saw Jody's Jeep parked half a block away; looked up to see a starless sky; turned to watch men through windows and thought of pet stores: cages and captives.

"What?" Gaara growled.

"You know what," Jody answered, coming closer and following the direction of Gaara's attention.

Gaara blinked and flinched as the branches of a tree scraped in the breeze. He felt Jody at his back, heard the low sigh, and ground his teeth together when big arms encircled Gaara and held him tight against a warm, broad body.

"You're here to stop me," Gaara complained.

"That what you think?" Jody drawled.

Laughter, faint and floating, reached Gaara's ears. It made him want to hurt something; break people into pieces. "We used to kill."

"Yeah, we surely did."

"Why not now?"

"Well…" Jody began before resting his chin on top of Gaara's head. "That was 'fore we became upstandin' citizens, boss. Now there's laws and rules and shit."

Gaara tensed.

"I know, boss, I know," Jody soothed, and he squeezed Gaara's arm. "We can call 'em in on drug charges or somethin'. Where Vince goes, meth fuckin' follows."

Gaara snorted. "It's not enough. They won't get more than a slap on the fucking wrist."

"We'll think 'a somethin'." Jody rumbled an unhappy sound when Gaara shuddered. "Cold?"

"No."

"A'right…"

Flexing in Jody's strength, Gaara sagged in defeat when the iron bars didn't waver. He didn't know what to feel about that; didn't know what to do. The smell of blood might help; but some part of Gaara whispered that salvation actually lay elsewhere.

"How 'bout that man you work with? The Hyuuga?"

"Neji," Gaara deadpanned.

"Yeah… think he could help somehow?"

"No one else will fight this battle but me, Jody. I can end this." Gaara ignored the way he breathed harder; the way his voice got higher, desperate. "I can bury bodies, Jody. Won't be the first time."

"I ain't sayin' you can't wipe 'em out," Jody said quietly. He hugged Gaara until Gaara started to struggle for air. "I'm sayin' I ain't gonna lose you to them assholes."

"I can take--"

"I know, boss," Jody interrupted. "You ain't hearin' me." Lips kissed Gaara's hair, and the shock of the affection made Gaara still. "I'm not losin' you, Gaara. Not to jail and not to bullets. Even the ones that go wild." Jody bent lower, spoke in Gaara's ear.

"And I sure as hell ain't losin' you to the bad ways that used to haunt you all the time. You don't get outta hell unscarred, boss. And I'm done seein' you head back into that fire for more."

Denial died a swift death on Jody's sword, and Gaara wanted to scream. In defiance, in terror of his own demons, in the inability to act, fix, or do; Gaara hated with everything he had and wanted to weep for the loss of the old self and for the suspicion that the new one was no better.

"You did what you had to do," Jody whispered.

"Fuck you," Gaara said.

"We both did."

"Fuck…" Gaara tried to breathe, struggled, and Jody kissed his cheek and spoke against it, body hunched around Gaara's in a forgiving cocoon.

"We got out alive 'cause you're smart and fast. We survived 'cause for you, livin' is the best revenge. And I love you for that, boss. I do."

"Shut--"

"Shh," Jody hissed, and Gaara went taut: cable ready to snap. Big hands squeezed and stroked, petting Gaara like a feral cat until he relaxed by degrees for lack of any other option.

"All good, boss. All good." He paused to sigh. "You only killed bad people when you had to do it. But you ain't got to do this."

"You're wrong."

"That's your perception, Gaara. And I think I'm right."

"I hurt--"

"I know."

"--people all the time," Gaara finished, frustrated and battling inside and out.

"No you don't."

"I stabbed Kiba." The words left on a rapid exhale, and Jody started to rock him: back and forth. Like dancing without music or sense of step.

"I bet you warned him first."

Gaara frowned, head aching, shoulders hunched, guts on fire.

"You always warn the ones you don't really want to hurt, boss."

"I think you're insane," Gaara whispered, going limp in weird exhaustion. It made no sense why Gaara was so damned tired; he hurt with it and with the need to go curl up in safe harbor and sleep. A vision of dangling fingertips, a palm over breastbone, and a rough voice in Gaara's ear made him feel weaker, wanton, and unforgivable for both.

"Oh, probably," Jody agreed. "Been called worse, though. And I kinda like insane if it gets me you, the shop, my house, and my life. I'm good with it."

Gaara shook his head. "Let go," he ordered, eyelids heavy. Jody obeyed, and Gaara paced over to Beast and leaned hard against her side. He rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not taking the meds." The confession felt like whining, and Gaara sneered at the pavement beneath his feet. It was the height of absurdity to be so close to the crack house -- mere feet from wrecked resolution -- and instead of bullets and plans Gaara was talking about the goddamned pills.

"I know," Jody replied.

Of course Jody knew, and Gaara laced his fingers behind his neck. Everyone knew things, figured them out, intrinsically understood the way the world worked far faster, easier, and better than Gaara. Too tired to be angry, Gaara bowed his head. "I feel everything." Truth and lies, that, Gaara knew, for at the moment, he felt nothing but numb.

"Yeah…" The word was full of sympathy. Gaara looked up at his oldest friend -- this barricade that would not allow Gaara to pass -- and his mouth opened and closed. To speak of gratitude or to beg for the hell to end, Gaara didn’t know. The first felt impossible and the second felt wrong, and being so in touch with the emotions made Gaara's eyes swim. He was sick, at a loss, and Jody's presence effectively limited Gaara's abilities to the cowardly instead of the crazy. Gaara pushed off the car and yanked open the door.

"Headed home?" Jody asked, making Gaara pause to nod once, curt.

"I'll follow you."

Gaara climbed into Beast and glanced back at Jody, who smiled and shrugged. "Got your back, boss."

"I know."

And the bitch of it all was that for the first time Gaara not only comprehended what that meant, but he also felt its weight. The responsibility was a tower of terror, the ground far below entirely too enticing.

Gaara cursed, slammed the door, started the car, and drove down the street without headlights, blind until Jody's beams blared to life and lit the way from behind.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Short chapter to spotlight Jody!
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song (and the song for the next two chapters as well) is: [We're In This Together Now - Nine Inch Nails](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bBVzER6GsM). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> well they've got to kill what we've found  
> well they've got to hate what they fear  
> well they've got to make it go away  
> well they've got to make it disappear 
> 
> the farther I fall I'm beside you  
> as lost as I get I will find you  
> the deeper the wound I'm inside you  
> for ever and ever I'm a part of
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love & vendettas,  
> ♥Dee


	19. Chapter 19

The parking lot of Akasuna Auto was deserted, the safety lights glowed, and Gaara felt a pang for the wreck of Kiba's vehicle he knew was parked behind the locked gate. Jody moved it there the same day the Dogs destroyed it, and Kiba called a taxi to take himself home, even though Jody offered to do the honors. That had been three days ago, and Gaara had not seen hide nor hair of Kiba since.

Ignoring his aches and pains both physical and otherwise, Gaara turned off the road to head home. Car lights vanished behind Gaara as Jody did likewise, and Gaara felt sick when he wanted to stop, turn around, and follow Jody. He could almost smell the air freshener Jody plugged into outlets that reminded Jody of apple pie, and Gaara stifled a flash of unrestricted panic. He wasn't acting right; the thought of running to Jody was ludicrous, childish, insane, and irresponsible. Gaara bit into his healing lip, found the dent of the hole made by Kiba's tooth, and chewed until he sucked blood.

Gaara's house was better lit than the shop, and he hit the button on the sun visor for the garage door, pulling forward until he slammed on the brakes at the sight of a Kia parked where Gaara's bikes usually sat. Distaste made Gaara's mouth bitter and anxiety thickened his throat as he eased Beast in next to what he hoped to God was a rental, and he killed the engine. After a moment, his finger hit the button to shut the door, and he sat in darkness; waiting while all the pieces clattered to the floor of Gaara's mind.

The only person who had the codes was Jody. It fell to reason that Jody gave the codes to the driver of the Kia. Gaara suspected that green-eyed fortune lay beyond the entrance to his home, but Gaara grabbed the Sig along with his jacket before starting the journey to discovery.

Unlocking the front door with shaking fingers, Gaara got inside, reset barriers and alarms, and jerked to another halt. He stared at the tiny screen telling him all was secure and listened. Not hearing so much as the air flowing from the heat vents, Gaara leaned his forehead against the wall and banged it. Hard.

Still nothing moved or stirred, and Gaara took off his shoes and hung his jacket in slow motion. He inched down the dark hallway, gun in hand with finger on the trigger, and he saw faint light coming from beneath his bedroom door. He stopped, squeezed the Sig's grip, and his heart pounded so loudly he couldn't think over pressure and volume. Every thud made his head hurt; every breath felt like glass in his lungs. Images scattered when he tried to organize his thoughts, words left, and his mouth went dry.

Gaara wanted Kiba, and the desire made him spin, start to run away, and then kick himself for cowardice. He twisted, turned the knob with the hand not full of weaponry, and he stepped into his room.

Not only was Kiba there, he was sprawled in Gaara's bed: nude and asleep with one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress. The ink on his back gleamed in the low glow of the single lamp, the dip and swell of muscles rose and fell with even breathing, and dark hair slashed across cheek and neck.

The vision rendered Gaara immobile and insane, and he stood stock still, bullets unspent and issues unresolved. He felt completely unhinged: a diluted and delusional version of self. This wasn't real; it was a nightmare. And Gaara wasn't even fucking sure _why_ . He felt peaceful and like he wanted to huddle in the corner and die or cry or something equally undignified, and Gaara didn't understand what in the _hell--_

"…is wrong with me?"

"Hm?" Kiba snorted, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sat up. One heavy leg sliding across the sheets caught all of Gaara's attention until a gleam around Kiba's throat pulled Gaara's eyes to a medallion about Kiba's neck. Gaara didn't remember crossing the room, grabbing the poorly-wrought thing in a fist and yanking on the chain until Kiba had to catch himself before falling off the bed.

"The fuck?" Gaara asked, quiet and somber.

"Nice t'see you, too, sweetheart," Kiba answered.

"This," Gaara whispered, tugging with each emphatic word. "What. Is. This?"

"The medal of Saint Dymphna: patron saint of the insane," Kiba answered, and Gaara felt himself studied; could practically taste Kiba's patience and anticipation. The world slid into blurry lines, and he could no longer clearly see the flat disc he'd worn for so long; couldn't hear over the sound of Leon telling him to pick a saint--

_"Choose your new name."_

_"Why?"_

_"So you can be reborn."_

\-- to take as his own. Gaara felt flipped upside down; stuck on a carnival ride with no relief from the loops in sight.

"Why…?" Gaara croaked.

"Jody gave it t'me."

Gaara heard blood rush, felt something slip inside himself into a darker, harder place. He grunted, slammed the gun on the nightstand with enough force to chip wood, and brought his hands up to his mouth, biting flesh and trying to see, to understand, to get a goddamned _grip_ but it felt impossible.

"You think you know me," Gaara husked, heels of his hands digging into his eyes.

"Yeah," Kiba replied, getting up. Gaara took in arms, chest, hip, cock, knees, and swayed on his feet. And then Kiba was _there_ and holding him. Kiba manhandled Gaara to the bed and forced Gaara onto it. A strangled noise filled the air, and Kiba shushed it with a kiss, an embrace, a warm palm over a soured stomach.

"How did you get in?" Gaara asked, but Kiba didn't answer. Instead, Kiba brought up the blankets and enveloped Gaara with body and comforter.

"What did Jody tell you?" Gaara asked, but Kiba merely turned out the light and, oddly, began to brush one knuckle over Gaara's face: beneath eyes and over cheeks. Gaara didn't know _why_. But it felt… felt like…

"Got ya baby," whispered a familiar growl.

"Why didn't I do it?" Gaara said, frantic and trying to squirm, but gravity and Kiba wouldn't let him. "Fucking _stupid._ I should have… I needed to…for you. I wanted it for… for…"

Cooing noises in his ears, lips on skin, hands everywhere: warmth, solace, safety, peace a slow breath and a long light year away.

"Right here, sweetheart."

"But--" Shattered gasps, rough swells of diaphragm, chaos and hunger and need.

"Not goin' anywhere."

A deep suck of wind, and Gaara managed to say: "I am…"

The world vanished, reality snapped, and then:

_A woman with strawberry blonde hair lays in a bed. Tubes are everywhere; so many Gaara can't tell where they begin and end. He makes a game of it: guess where this ends, guess where that goes._

_"I'm getting coffee," Father says. Gaara sits up in the bad plastic chair, curls in on himself._

_"I'll come with you," Uncle says._

_Father pauses, makes the unhappy face that means Gaara has to try harder. "The boy…"_

_"He'll be fine. The nurses won't let him wander off." Uncle smiles at Gaara, and his eyes are like the monsters in Gaara's closet. "You'll be good for me, won't you? Don't want to upset Daddy, do you?"_

_Gaara doesn't answer, and Father vanishes. Uncle goes with him, and Gaara's left with Mother who Isn't Really There Anymore. At least, that's what Father says._

_But Gaara doesn't believe that. So he climbs off the chair and uses the metal rail to crawl onto the bed._

_"Mommy?" Gaara whispers. A machine beeps, and Gaara watches the lines jump on the screen. He knows that means she can hear him, but it's hard to talk to her with her eyes closed. Frowning, Gaara bends to Mother's ear, carefully avoiding the BeginandEnd Tubes._

_"I heard the mean nurse tell Father you're dying 'cause the way I came into the world was bad."_

_The beeping seems louder, and Gaara brings his hand to his mouth, gnawing on a red fist._

_"Is… is that true?" Gaara waits. "Mommy?"_

_The beeping is louder, more urgent, and Gaara doesn't know what that means._

_"I'm sorry," Gaara whispers and kisses Mother's cheek. It feels like tissue under his lips, and Gaara makes a face he hopes Mother doesn't see._

_"I didn't mean to."_

_Beeping, an alarm, and Gaara needs to hurry before Father comes back._

_Before Uncle sees him being a Bad Boy and gives Gaara his Punishment. It's worse than Father's belt. And Gaara thinks it's really unfair that his half brother and sister never get punished. They only visit, but Uncle's always there. And he never even looks at them._

_Not the way he looks at Gaara._

_"I love you, Mommy."_

_Gaara clasps Mother's hand in both of his, puts his head on her belly, and tries not to cry. Uncle likes it when Gaara cries, but not too loud._

_Father hates it, though. Hates it a lot._

_"Don't go, okay?"_

_The hand in Gaara's jerks, the alarms get really loud, and Gaara smiles as Mommy relaxes in the bed._

_She's resting the Good Sleep, and Gaara wants that, too._

_But then the nurses are there, pulling him away. Shaking him._

"Gaara?"

_Gaara yells something, his father and uncle shout._

"C'mon, sweetheart."

_Gaara blinks and holds up his hands. The room is full of white. And it's--_

"Bright," Gaara gasped, and Kiba stroked back his hair, touched his face, kissed his open mouth. Kiba lay back down behind Gaara, and the motion made Gaara seasick.

"A'right," Kiba said, but his voice didn't sound right; too thick.

"I'm… sorry…" Gaara tried to say, but his tongue was a useless hunk of meat in his mouth.

"I can fix it, baby," Kiba said, and a warm palm covered Gaara's eyes in the pitch darkness of the room. "I swear."

"Okay," Gaara managed, the word clearer. He shook hard, Kiba held him harder, and the promise lulled Gaara; eased him away from the brink. He wanted to tell Kiba that the memories were back and that they needed to die swift deaths. He needed to explain to Kiba that gentle wouldn't make the angels stop singing. He had to warn Kiba that no matter what anyone said, Gaara was irrevocably broken.

And it wasn't his mother's death, his Uncle's abuse, his father's neglect, or the years of violence and drugs that did it. Those were the symptoms of the illness that had no cure.

Gaara was born bad.

Breathing slowed, time ticked, and Gaara couldn't remember the last time he slept. He counted all his blessings: alcohol, drugs, smokes, sex, whips, lashes, and pain. He tried to long for any one of them and found that he only wanted the result: oblivion.

Sitting up, Gaara turned and studied Kiba, who rested, eyes roving beneath the lids, and salty tracks lining his face. Gaara started to touch one, thinking it would wake Kiba up, and maybe Gaara could ask for--

"He'll never love you like that," said a sibilant voice. Gaara suppressed a sigh, turned his torso, and saw the bloodied, burnt corpse of his uncle. He wore a tattered black suit like he used to wear in life. His eyes ran red, his lips were gone, and his teeth were too white against the spotted black pink of gums.

"You're not real," Gaara said, standing and walking toward the door leading out to the lanai.

"No one will ever love you but me."

"Get fucked," Gaara whispered, bare feet padding over outdoor tile. The blue lights in the pool danced below the surface of the water, and the dark granite bottom looked fathomless; endless.

"You can't ask him for _that_. He'll hate you, my dirty little whore."

Gaara smiled, faced the dead man, and made thumb and forefinger into a flesh pistol. He fired -- _bang_ \-- and Uncle died by bullet instead of by flame. To this day, Gaara didn't know who started that blaze. It wasn't Jody. It wasn't Gaara. So maybe…

A blur in peripheral vision; something that looked for all the world like a tall, thin man in a sport coat and--

"Father?" Gaara said, toes hanging over the edge of the plunge pool. But there was nothing but silence, steam from the water, a hint of snowflake, and the siren song speaking of dreamless relief.

"The Good Sleep," Gaara said.

Because while Uncle was dead, Father was buried, Jody was home, Kiba was sleeping, and Gaara stood on the precipice of understanding it all -- of what he needed, what he wanted, and how to say it in words instead of with violence -- none of it mattered. He couldn't protect the people he loved, couldn't be worthy of the care they wanted to give him, couldn't survive the way a normal person should, and he couldn't make himself take the steps closer to the man who might, Gaara knew, be able to prove him entirely wrong.

So instead…

_Kiba…_

…he walked into the light…

_Please…please…_

…stroked toward the blackness…

_Make it stop…_

And sucked sweet liquid oblivion into the chambers around his heart.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Saint Dymphna is the patron saint of anxiety, mental disorders, etc. You can read about her [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dymphna%20).
> 
> ∞ Gaara's mother eventually died of prolonged complications of placental abruption.
> 
> ∞ Please note that love cannot fix the kinds of issues Gaara has alone. This is fiction (and Gaara is also in therapy, has medicine he's stopped taking, which isn't great, and is being triggered by a shitload of extremely unpleasant crap). Please get help if you are feeling lonely, depressed, or like you would harm yourself. Please. The world is better for having you in it, even if you cannot find the good in the world right now.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [We're In This Together Now - Nine Inch Nails](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bBVzER6GsM). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> you and me  
> we're in this together now  
> none of them can stop us now  
> we will make it through somehow  
> you and me  
> even after everything  
> you're the queen and I'm the king  
> nothing else means anything
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love & fighting the Good Fight,  
> ♥Dee


	20. Chapter 20

Burning, blackness, bile, and drowning became just another fight. Burbles filled Gaara's ears, he shrieked under the weight of water, and when he opened his eyes, he saw hundreds of bleeding angels in blooms of floating gossamer: all blind, all reaching, all grinning.

Gaara flailed and tried to get away. He didn't want to die -- he just wanted escape. Finally, definitely, ultimately, and cowardly escape, but Gaara willed himself toward darkness. He thought of the men he knew who came back from the other side, and the stories they told: a pattern, repeated and catalogued. He thought of peace and wondered why this wasn't easier. He always thought the Good Sleep would be like a blanket: something warm and tender that he would allow himself when he finally could take no more of cold and rough reality.

Instead Gaara found a contained inferno within the walls of the deep: a wail that wouldn't shut up, a pain that didn't ebb, a last frantic battle to overcome all odds. But Gaara wasn't sure he would win this round. He couldn't be effective on the surface, and that meant he suffered below.

Tears added to the gallons in the pool, and peace pushed like iron fists on Gaara's chest. When Gaara blinked again, everything was blue, black, and shimmering: desert mirage and far away miracles. He shut his eyes and something slam-wrapped around his middle and squeezed. Disorientation was the name of the final game, and Gaara couldn't work up a struggle. Pulled, tugged, shifted, and Gaara went limp in the arms of the biggest broken messenger who must have been sent from Gaara's personal hell. He knew it didn't make sense to hear wings flap--

_They're all gone. Mere stumps._

\--but he did; knew it to be a death knell even if it felt like salvation.

And then everything hurt.

Unrelenting force shoved through his center -- felt like it impaled him into bedrock -- and Gaara's body betrayed him as he gurgle-gagged on liquid heated to a simmer in his lungs, guts, and throat.

_"Christ!"_

Gaara blinked, tried to move, and he felt burdened by too much gravity. He coughed some more, groaning and going deaf with the sound.

"Goddammit… why…?"

The panting, angry words were spoken in a familiar voice, and Gaara made himself shift. This wasn't how it was supposed to go: Gaara was entirely conscious, more than enough aware to make him want to weep. He felt himself lifted, embraced, and pressed to a slick, heaving surface. His vision snapped focused like a rubber band, and he saw bicep, skin, ink, nipple. He kicked with his feet and heard the slow slosh of water -- he was on the edge of the pool in sodden clothing wrapped up in--

"Kiba?" Gaara attempted to say. It came out watery.

"The fuck were ya thinkin'?" Swaying motion like the ocean, and Gaara understood Kiba clung and rocked him. There were fingers in his hair, clutching at his head, and he felt stubble as Kiba tipped down to press lips to Gaara's cheek, throat, shoulder.

"No," said a voice that could have come from the high lord of hell, so rough and angry and final.

"Scared the _fuck_ outta me, and if I hadn't been here, ya woulda--"

"NO." Gaara thrashed and dislodged himself from Kiba's grip. He slipped back into the heated water--

_Solace, sanctuary… so why does it feel wrong to want it?_

But hands caught his shirt and jeans. "Oh _hell_ no ya don't, bitch," Kiba snarled, dragging a fighting Gaara onto the concrete around the pool.

"You don't understand." Gaara swore he screamed the words as he turned to crawl. Swore he shouted other things -- curses, condemnation, cracked cries. When he felt hands on his sides, Gaara rolled and aimed his feet at bare torso. Kiba grunted, twisted, and his naked ass hit ground. Stumbling upright, Gaara took a single step toward the house -- to find weapon, pills, glass, blades, something -- and Kiba grabbed Gaara's ankle.

"Fuck _you_ ," Kiba bellowed and yanked Gaara's leg out from under him. Gaara went down hard on knees and elbows, calling out and coughing up more water, bile, and God only knew. He snarled over one shoulder when a body tried to pin him down, and Gaara's mind shifted to red-black haze. Punch, kick, scrabble, claw, bite, and the two of them rolled away from the pool, knocked over a table, and Gaara screeched when the metal edge of a chair dug into his back. His head slammed onto pavement a second later, and he saw stars.

"Stop it!" Kiba screamed, his face an inch from Gaara's. His mouth was bleeding, his cheek was bruised, and he clamped Gaara's wrists to the ground with his knees.

" _Nnah_ ," Gaara gasped, pain slicing its way up his spine to register in his brain. "Kill you… kill me… don't understand… Get… get _off_ of--"

"Gaara! Snap the fuck out of it!"

"I have to!" Gaara screeched, and if he couldn't move his arms, Gaara would use his legs. He jerked up a knee, and Kiba's eyes went wide in pained shock. Tailbone or balls, Gaara didn't know where he struck, but Kiba's slur of anger gave Gaara a second's reprieve from Kiba's hold. Gaara upset Kiba's balance and began to slither away from the other man. Pavement bit, skin flayed, and a cold, rational voice told him the location of the nearest gun; gave him a picture of shooting Kiba and then himself and suggested that these actions would bring resolution.

Another voice--

_Southern, sweet, tender-slow._

\-- begged for Gaara to stop, to think, and to just--

"Mother _fucker_ ," Kiba roared, flipped Gaara onto his back, and in a slow-motion freeze-frame Gaara saw Kiba's fist rear back in the nanosecond before it connected to his jaw. Pain politely waited for a beat before engulfing his entire head.

"Bitch!" Gaara spat and tried to leverage a hit into Kiba's gut, but Kiba deflected and smacked Gaara's arm to the ground.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Kiba garbled, body sliding as Gaara rolled.

"Let me _go_!”

"Ain't gonna fuckin' happen!" Kiba landed with full weight on Gaara's chest, making him suck wind, but still Gaara reached for purchase to claw away from… from…

_What am I doing?_

"Damned near _killed_ myself gettin' here," Kiba babbled, words a rush as he continued his efforts to contain Gaara. "Tryin' to fuckin' get through to yer thick-ass self, and jus' when I thought you were listenin' fer a fuckin' -- _cut that out!"_

Kiba rammed a weak elbow into Gaara's ear to make him stop biting. The same elbow shoved Gaara's head back, and Gaara caught a crazy wrong-side-up view of the back door and house. Cat sat in a window, head cocked and curious.

_Why am I fighting?_

"Listen, sweetheart," Kiba demanded. "Ya ain't offin' yerself on my fuckin' watch, I don't give a shit how--"

"Wasn't trying to," Gaara rasped, frustrated that he couldn't explain, and coughing a cry when he realized that the part of himself he hated more in that instant was the one trying to get away -- not the one pinned and trapped.

_I want him… I wanted him… before…_

"Then what the hell were ya doin'? Gettin' a chlorine fix?"

One of Gaara's hands broke free, and he slapped at Kiba until his fist found a grip in Kiba's hair. Kiba snarled, resituated, and bent Gaara's other wrist down until Gaara screeched in complaint. "No!" Gaara cried.

"Then… what…?" Kiba panted, and now he sounded like he did next to the water: aching and lost.

Gaara tossed his head side-to-side and then did it again, harder. The world rushed by in a blur of lights, stars, and Kiba's face. There was no time to sort anything out when Gaara worked so hard not to think, and it all felt so impossible. He didn't feel suicidal -- he felt worse: unhinged and gone, broken and splattered from a fifty story fall. He wanted to scream for help, die of shame that he couldn't fix anything and couldn't end himself, and the only thing within his grasp was--

_Kiba._

\--a fighting solution. Skin scraped, wet clothing ripped, and Kiba tussled with Gaara until they came to rest with Gaara halfway on one side: Kiba's fingers around Gaara's throat, his knee between Gaara's legs nearly crushing balls, and Kiba's hand holding Gaara's arm bent to the point of breaking.

"The hell?" Kiba bellowed.

"Making it stop," Gaara hissed.

"What?"

"I have to make… it… _stop."_

"Make _what_ stop, baby?"

"The… the…" Gaara couldn't find words, couldn't move, couldn't call up strength. He sobbed a cry he hated himself for making and went lax under Kiba.

"Got ya, baby," Kiba whispered, instantly bending closer though his hold stayed steely. "Tell me, sweetheart. Just tell me?"

Gaara shut his eyes to hide from the pain and--

_Love._

\--pity in Kiba's voice. "Born wrong," Gaara said with numbed lips. "Killed Mother. Uncle burned. Father died. The angels come when I can't run or fix it -- can't stop it. Need drugs, can't do 'em, and there's nothing I _can_ …Can't _do_ anything, and I didn't kill the goddamned Dogs, and--"

"Okay, sweetheart… it's all okay…"

" _It's never fucking okay!_ " Gaara screamed and echoed off the stucco. His neck cracked from the force of its turn, and Gaara forgot the next part of his angry litany when he saw the water's surface roil and steam behind them; saw things lift straight up into the air, emerging from the depths in sick heaps of wilting flesh and cloth. No eyes, no noses, only gaping maws for mouths, claws for hands, and the bone-broken wings beat hard to get closer. Blue-green mossy toes touched pavement; skimmed in a glide--

"Baby?" Kiba glanced at the pool. "What d'ya see?"

Gaara opened his mouth to yell -- curse the monsters back to hell, closets, and shadow; lecture illusions on their state of false existence -- but, inexplicably and to Gaara's utter horror, what escaped was no battle cry but a steady torrent of broken wails. "God… no… please, oh God… _no_..." Tears streamed down his face, and he weakly flailed, unable to look away. "Ki… Kiba…?"

"Oh…" Kiba said, and the single syllable came out wet. Kiba unpinned Gaara, lifted him.

"I can't do it anymore…" Gaara hiccoughed against Kiba's bare skin. "I… I… just want them to go away… oh for fuck all, make 'em go…"

"Okay, baby," Kiba answered, and he covered Gaara's eyes with one hand.

Gaara despaired to tell Kiba that it wouldn't work; the nightmare things of failures past loomed evermore near: so close, so very close. Years and years and nothing ever made them go away; nothing ever unmade the truth of Gaara's bad birth. He'd tried everything, nothing, and all points of interest in between. It didn't work, and nothing ever would, because no one could ever--

"Love you, Gaara," Kiba whispered, rocking, petting, holding, caressing. So real, so warm; a bonfire blaze in a barren tundra wasteland. Close enough to burn.

_Safe… so safe…could he really be…?_

"You… no…" Gaara tried to tell Kiba to stop, but quit when hope sparked as the shuffle of spirits unreal ceased to fill Gaara's ears. No wings. No approaching destruction.

Just silence and the sturdy rhythm of a solid heart.

"Love ya with everythin' I got and all I ever will be, sweetheart."

_It's him._

"And ain't nothin' touchin' the man I love," Kiba said with steady conviction that made Gaara hold his breath and blink against Kiba's palm.

_It was always him._

"Don't care what it takes, where we gotta go, what help I need to find, or what I gotta do, Gaara."

Shaking, weeping, and finally beaten, Gaara let himself get folded into Kiba's embrace, and the hand on his face shifted to press him into Kiba's chest and arm. "We got each other. Nothin' can touch us."

And Gaara felt electrified with the sudden shock of _belief_. It filled him up: a hungry, happy holy ghost.

"And all ya gotta do…"

Gaara waited and wanted without shame, hearing everything for the very first time.

"Is close yer eyes and hang on to me."

Gaara's arms flew around Kiba's neck: hugged him, tasted him, smelled him, and knew what was real.

"Good, baby," Kiba sobbed. "Good."

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ The first steps are the hardest to believe in.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Shine a Light - Wolf Parade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYJnomklVBI). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> I keep my head up tight  
> I make my plans at night  
> And I don't sleep I don't sleep I don't sleep 'til it's light  
> Some folks float and some are buried alive  
> With our little boots, we built another world  
> Gonna chain, chain, chain, chain, chain, chain to the light  
> That's fine our blood is alive
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love & seeing the Light,  
> ♥Dee


	21. Chapter 21

Weightlessness made Gaara dizzy and the world pitched. Kiba cursed under his breath as he nearly toppled before standing with Gaara pressed against him. Gaara said nothing, trusting beyond reason that Kiba would not let them fall, and if he did, then Gaara wouldn't mind.

Footsteps, breathing, a shift and kiss to Gaara's hair. "Door," Kiba warned, and Gaara clung harder as hinges creaked. Cat meowed with a question mark at the end, and Gaara gasped with lungs he didn't know ached for air until his body made them work on its own accord.

"Watch out, Cat," Kiba muttered, and Gaara melted at the tenderness in the gritty voice. He couldn't think of a thing to say or do, didn't know if he was even supposed to speak or act, and he put a fist against his swollen mouth, nibbling on raw skin. The world was blessedly dark and quiet behind his eyelids, Kiba smelled like sweat, pool water, and earth, and the chest against Gaara's cheek was firm, solid, comforting. It was more than enough.

Movement, a click of light switch, and Gaara must have made a noise because Kiba crooned gentle nonsense. A moment of confusion flared in Gaara. They were no longer walking, but the world still swayed.

_Rocking. He's swinging me back and forth... like a…_

"Hammock," Gaara whispered.

"Hm?" Kiba intoned, and lips brushed against Gaara's ear. Gaara tried to shrink in on himself in something that felt like embarrassment. He worried for no logical reason at all, but Kiba didn't reprimand him. Kiba didn't demand explanation or more of Gaara's runaway mouth. Instead, strong arms squeezed Gaara in a terribly awkward hug, and Gaara went limp in relief.

"Can ya hear me, baby?" Kiba asked, and Gaara thought about telling Kiba that of everything that ached or hurt on his person, Gaara's ears were two things that felt just fine.

"Yeah," Gaara croaked. His throat and chest roared in the dull flame of dwindling campfire.

"Good. Here's what I'm gonna do. I need to set ya down and get the shower started. Yer shiverin' pretty bad, and we're both pretty cut up."

For a moment, the urge to die consumed Gaara because Kiba was injured and it was all Gaara's fault. He didn't recognize the quiet sound he made, but he understood burning eyes and dampening cheeks.

"Sh," Kiba whispered. "Listen to me. Just hear me like nothin' else matters, okay?"

Gaara nodded: that he could do. That made sense. And if it would help Kiba or make the man--

_Happy._

Thoughts derailed, logic vanished, and Gaara struggled back to obedience.

"I've got ya, sweetheart," Kiba said. Warmth flooded Gaara, he shuddered, and Kiba hitched Gaara higher. Minute trembling told Gaara that Kiba's muscles were at their limits, and concern became the new dominant force within Gaara's being.

"Got all of ya. But I'm worried 'bout shock, and yer skin's freezin'. I'll go slow, don't try to do anythin' on yer own. Let me hold ya."

"Okay," Gaara mumbled, and the sick-twist of gravity was made distant by Gaara's efforts to understand why he felt so small and helpless and useless but also big and meaningful and important. He got that doing exactly as Kiba asked made it better -- made him feel more special and less stupid. So he let Kiba set him down, let Kiba steady Gaara and take all his weight, and Gaara buried his forehead against Kiba's sternum as the sound of rushing water filled his ears.

"Yer doin' great, baby. Just hang on a little longer."

Gaara shivered again, but it had nothing to do with the numbness of limb or the aftermath of chaos and had everything to do with how good Kiba felt. Sanity embodied, understanding incarnate, the missing link to Gaara's everything who was kind and brave and strong enough to exist. Dimly, Gaara remembered fighting, struggling, hating, fearing, and his mind turned away from those screaming harpies like bad dogs--

_Vince in the window. A flash of gold caps. Death of the Knight's black stallion._

\-- left in cages. There was no way to enumerate all of Gaara's places and points of pain, but the desire to try to show Kiba that the man filled Gaara's cracks consumed him. Gaara needed to tell Kiba some things because any second now and all of this would vanish like the only good dream Gaara ever had. He had to--

"Talk," Gaara croaked as Kiba checked the water's temperature.

"Sure, baby," Kiba answered, and Gaara frowned and then got distracted as a flesh-and-blood vise lifted him over the lip of the shower door, placed him on tile, and maneuvered Gaara under a torrent of liquid heat.

"I know, I know," Kiba soothed. "It feels too hot, but I swear it's lukewarm." Adjustment, tipping, the quiet thump of knob turning. "Gonna leave the clothes on 'til yer more stable. We'll get 'em off, though. Wash out the scrapes. I'll get ya some ice for the jaw, and damn… I'm sorry 'bout that. Just didn't know what t'do. Was real scared there for a second or two." An effort of a chuckle, hands in Gaara's hair, against his back, and Gaara gulped air around rivulets of water that made him stiffen and whine in drowning memory.

"Shit." Kiba inched backward, Gaara gasped in relief, and resettled.

"Sorry, Gaara, I didn't fuckin' think about--"

"I need to talk," Gaara finally managed to clarify around a cough and a clearing of his throat.

"Anythin' ya feel ya need to do is all right by me, baby, but it's okay if ya just want to rest for a--"

"No."

"Ah, there's the stubborn man I know." Kiba laughed, and the sentiment and sound were so alien for the circumstance that Gaara opened his eyes, pulled back, and stared at Kiba. The affection in the other man's gaze was so pure and naked that Gaara touched the edge of Kiba's mouth with questing fingertips. It wasn't until Kiba sighed and let Gaara stand more on his own that Gaara remembered looming nightmares. He fisted his hand, glancing around the shower as fast as his upset equilibrium would allow.

"Just us?" Kiba asked, holding tighter as Gaara inspected fogging glass, dewing walls, wet bench, shampoo bottles, and single high window before nodding.

"Good. Gettin' warmer?"

Another nod, and butterflies tickled Gaara's insides when Kiba's rumbling sound of relief was pleased. "Let's sit ya down and get ya out of the…" Kiba paused.

"What?" Gaara asked, touching stubbled jaw in a fascinating tactile exploration.

"I just want ya warm, baby. I don't want anythin' else. Understand?"

The word rebounded around Gaara's brain, and it took a moment for Gaara to respond. "You want to take off my clothes."

"Yeah…"

Kiba's nerves didn't make any sense. "We're in the shower."

"Yeah…"

The smirk made Gaara's pulse crazily quicken. So tired, so overdone, and Gaara was such an extreme version of self, but still: seeing the pointed teeth and jade-fleck eyes made Gaara's existence narrow to a raw place full of unsated need. "And you're…" Gaara drew a palm over Kiba's mouth, felt a kiss. He slid to cover Kiba's heartbeat, felt the pace. Scrapes and abrasions and bruises covered Kiba's arms, shoulders, cheek, and flank. "You don't hurt me," Gaara said, feeling too much about Kiba's state to wrestle the tide of emotions for control.

"Gaara…" Kiba spoke the word like a prayer. Like this shower was a shrine and Gaara was a god invoked. Gaara trembled in the focus of such veneration, Kiba kissed Gaara's forehead between the brows, and slowly turned them until Gaara backed toward the bench. He sat and watched tanned abdominal muscles play until his sopping shirt blocked his view. He leaned against the wall and counted Kiba's hurts while sure hands undid his jeans and worked them down in a tug-of-war. Clothing went into a pile, water circled the drain and woke up nerves, flesh, and the body's quest for healing.

Kiba's expression changed to suffering and then chagrin. "Damn," he said as he knelt, and Gaara got that Kiba felt bad for Gaara's bloody-and-banged knees. Got it even more when Kiba bent to kiss around the wounds, reached for soap, and flashed unspoken apology with eyes and brow before starting to rinse Gaara clean.

The urge to speak or do or maybe both bubbled and broke over Gaara's tongue. "You save me."

"I did. Yeah." Kiba's shoulders hunched, Gaara's nerves and veins and arteries sang with the pain of clotting and closing, and Gaara stroked through Kiba's hair: thick, soft, wet, amazing. Gaara did it again and again until Kiba looked up though he kept stroking Gaara's shins to wash away dirt.

"No," Gaara objected, but his voice came out so softly he feared Kiba didn't hear. "No," Gaara said again, louder as he sat up. So tired, but he could put it aside. So terrified but it was unfounded, and Gaara could let it go. The importance of explaining and acting in this moment outweighed all other pivotal moments past, and Gaara was glad he didn't know why. Because if he did, he wouldn't be able to do a damned thing, and that would be worse than an eternity of torture at the hands of embodied failures.

"Wha--" Kiba began, and Gaara cradled Kiba's face in his hands, thumbs over Kiba's mouth. Kiba didn't fight, resist, or try to undo Gaara's hold, and feather flicks of sensation spread in faint lines on Gaara's bare thighs. Kiba petted and waited, and Gaara forgot everything except the shade of Kiba's skin, the dark patches under Kiba's eyes, the give of mobile, tender, split flesh. Gaara breathed faster and harder as he stroked a hesitant thumb over a tiny wound, toyed with the slick, warm, moistened inner lip until Kiba trembled under Gaara's attentions.

"Real," Gaara whispered in awe. "Here. Alive. With me. Because you…"

Kiba pleaded with Gaara without words or action, and Gaara was blinded until he blinked away tears. "Love…?" The rest wouldn't come out, Gaara begged Kiba to hear him through sheer willpower, and the answer to the unspoken was a hand against Gaara's cheek, a sound of affirmation, a body that inched nearer to his. Pleasure, rapture, and want erupted, and Gaara paid attention because somewhere in the mix was the cipher to the riddle of _What Next_ and _How Do I Tell Him._

"And so you didn't save me once," Gaara explained, hoping it was the start to the rest of a speech. But it was so difficult to concentrate through the silence of his mind, so hard to fight against the dazed, lazy peace of shower and dual existence. "You save me over and over."

At first Gaara thought he cried again when the green he longed to get lost in grew wet, and a wedge of irritation tried to worm its way into Gaara's soul. But when Kiba's chest heaved in an uneven stutter, when Kiba caught Gaara's thumb in a kiss that scrunched Kiba's eyes closed, and when Kiba's rickety gasp echoed, everything stopped. Time stood still, the steam and water rippled and rushed around them, and Gaara kissed Kiba with every ounce of love that Gaara craved to have, harbor, and then return to a heart that beat in time with his own.

"Gaara," Kiba whispered, blinking before kissing Gaara again and again. "We… I… _ooh_ …"

Kiba cupped the base of Gaara's skull, careful over the knot left by the crack to pavement. Kiba's lips were tender, but the soft moans that accompanied every press forced Gaara to pull them closer, to wrap his arms around the other man, to _need_ more than he could ever adequately describe or request.

"Shouldn't," Kiba gasped, standing and groaning when Gaara stood, too, went on tiptoe so Gaara didn't relinquish any hard-won proximity. The water was too hot, now, the steam almost unbearable, and all Gaara could think about were the words _join_ and _inside_ and _love_ and _now_.

"Don't care," Gaara rasped, kissing in rapid fire over Kiba's jaw, neck, chest. Kiba's breathing hitched, and he caressed Gaara's back, fingernails dragging.

"I do. We're a fuckin' mess, baby, and--"

"Need," Gaara said around Kiba's nipple, and he studied the fear that flared in the back of his mind. It was born from the notion that Kiba might not do this. Might finally back down or delay when at long last Gaara didn't have a damned defense left. With a spark of understanding that made Gaara whimper, he knew that if Kiba didn't step in to fill the barrier-forsaken void, Gaara would never be able to return to this moment again.

The idea of never wanting Kiba with such a keen, clean edge and never being able to allow Kiba's essence to encircle him, hold him, keep him made Gaara gnash his teeth, wind fingers in Kiba's wet hair, and force their eyes to meet. " _Need_ you," Gaara said, watching a hunger that eclipsed his own slowly rise in Kiba's gaze. "Kiba. Be my…" Gaara swallowed and let the words form. "Lover? Plea--"

Gaara didn't get to finish because Kiba hoisted him up, and Gaara locked his legs around Kiba's waist. Good. This was _good_. Kiba heard him, Kiba would let Gaara do this, Kiba wanted, and Gaara clutched at the other man. Mouths slipped and slid, tongues danced, and Kiba slapped at the wall until the showerhead shut off. The door banged open from the force of Kiba's knee, and Gaara got entirely distracted by the sensation of being cradled against damp skin. Cool air made Gaara shiver, Kiba attacked Gaara's throat while maneuvering them toward the counter, and Gaara traced lacerations and scrapes on Kiba's back. He felt a split-second of guilt nag at him, but fingertips dug into the flesh of Gaara's ass, and his cock stirred.

"Like it," Gaara breathed, and Kiba sat Gaara down next to the sink.

"Tell me," Kiba ordered over Gaara's lips, and Gaara shuddered, reclining until his head hit the wall.

"You around me," Gaara said, watching lights flash behind his closed lids as Kiba kissed his torso. "Mouth…"

"Like this?" Kiba asked and sucked at the skin just under the head of Gaara's cock. Gaara scrambled for purchase on the counter and on Kiba, eyes flying open to watch Kiba trace contours with his tongue. Gaara's pulse tripped, making vision blur in time to an eager heartbeat.

"Yes," Gaara said, groaning, writhing, struggling while Kiba tasted his nuts, nipped at the juncture of leg and body, and lapped back up to Gaara's head. "Ooh, Kiba… yes… that… I, God, yes…"

Kiba made a noise composed equally of growl and sigh before covering Gaara's dick with a tight ring of lip and swallowing him down to balls. The last vestiges of coherent anything left Gaara, and he rolled with Kiba's slow rhythm. He didn't care what he said, what sounds he made, or how it all rebounded off the bathroom walls and came back to him with startling clarity. He didn't care that his back ached with the angle, that his jaw was stiff, that the corners of his eyes would not quit leaking, or that he shook so hard Kiba had to steady him with sure hands.

There was only Kiba. There was always Kiba. There would be, forevermore, _Kiba_.

"Please," Gaara begged, when the torrent of emotion threatened to crush him, when he had to keep going but had no idea how to get there. "Please, please… _please!"_

Kiba came off Gaara with a sweet, slick, pop and gathered Gaara close. "C'mon, sweetheart," he said, picking Gaara up again and waiting until Gaara rested head on Kiba's shoulder and locked ankles behind his back. "Get ya t'bed."

"D-don't…" Gaara tried, and buried his face against Kiba's throat, tasted the skin and bit. He delighted in Kiba's tightening embrace, in the soft curse.

"Don’t what, baby?" Kiba asked, and in the tone Gaara could identify affection, concern… love. Not pity, not denial, not condemnation. Only love as Kiba placed Gaara on the sheets. Only love as Kiba settled over him, cupped Gaara's cheek, kissed his upper lip.

"N-need," Gaara said, insides twisting with the confession and terror rising like ice picks through the warmth that Kiba inspired, kindled, and spread within him.

"Talk t'me," Kiba commanded, and the deep notes in the voice resonated and plucked something so deeply seated in Gaara that it took long, dragging seconds before Gaara could find thought.

"I want you," Gaara said, and the vision of Kiba above him, moving, moaning, unwavering and wanting forced a quiet cry from Gaara's lungs. He kissed Kiba, dragged Kiba against him, bare skin on bare skin, and it felt so perfect, so right, so vital that Gaara wanted to scream.

"Told you," Kiba said, rolling them together, reaching between and stroking. "Here for ya anytime ya need it." A long pull, a press of weight, the glimpse of Kiba's sharp incisor and heavy eyelids. "Ain't gonna stop." Gaara heard his own garbled gasp and let the next wave of fevered fortune swell, take him, drag him down, but something heavy rested against his chest. Something cold. Something old. Something--

Gaara pitched to one side, and slammed a hand against Kiba's chest. In the slow motion of tunnel vision the Saint's medallion swung from Kiba's neck, catching the barest glimmers of light in the dark room and throwing them at Gaara to mock him. Kiba stayed still, breathing hard, and Gaara snarled at the evidence of a crippled past. He grabbed the hated rough-hewn metal in a fist, ripped it to the sound of unlinking chain, and threw it away. He heard it hit the wall, and he sighed. Gaara met Kiba's wide eyes, and arched up to kiss between them.

"No," Gaara said in a hushed voice. "I want you… _in_ me."

Kiba licked his lips, started to shake his head, and Gaara caught his face. "Yes," Gaara insisted, wrapping legs around Kiba and squeezing until Kiba gasped for oxygen. "Because it's good. Because it'll feel… good." Gaara yanked Kiba's head closer, bit Kiba's earlobe and felt a surge of dawning power at the sound the nip-undulate-slide of bodies and wills pulled from the other man.

"Because I have to show you…" Gaara broke off to buck into the tight fist around his cock that suddenly stroked with vicious intent.

"Show me?" Kiba repeated, and the rasp was back. The voice that hunted and haunted and humbled Gaara into wanting to do anything, everything to keep Kiba speaking, teasing, taking.

"That I'm here. This is me. That you… I'm…" Gaara hissed when the words wouldn't obey, and he tugged at the shorter hairs at Kiba's nape. A grunt, a breathy sob, and who made which Gaara didn't know. But he knew Kiba stroked until Gaara thought he'd come and then slowed to make Gaara whine. He knew Kiba's teeth carved more marks onto his skin, and Gaara thrashed in delight that he made clear with shouted praise.

And he knew he _had_ to explain that the pool was a death he no longer wanted and that the shower was a rinse in clarity the likes of which Gaara had never experienced. It didn’t matter if Kiba already understood. It mattered that Gaara could finally speak the truth.

"Kiba…" Gaara groaned, body reacting as the damnable man's palm slicked Gaara with his own pre-come and kept the pace erratic but desperate. He grappled until he got a hand cupping Kiba's balls, squeezing. Kiba's harsh blast of air did things to Gaara's mind and cock that were delightful in the delirium they inspired, and Gaara sucked the cry from Kiba's mouth.

"Do this now," Gaara said, a plea, a command, a path to together. "And you _stay_ here. And so will I."

A strangled pant, a blur of kisses, a span of frantic touches, and Kiba's eyes were wet when he levered himself up over Gaara, sweating, hair a mussed halo, tattoos shimmering. "Where's your--"

"Drawer."

Kiba reached for provisions, and Gaara shifted on the bed until face-to-face with Kiba's cock. Long, full, tan and reddened at the exposed head, and Gaara's asshole contracted, his dick throbbed, and he wrapped lips and tongue around what he wanted without a thought or care in the world except for his own desires.

" _Mmmngah_ \-- shit!" Kiba called. Something fluttered behind Gaara's breastbone, and the room started to spin as a hand clawed at his neck and hair. The flesh stretching his jaw pulsed, pain soared in a soothing symphony as Kiba trapped Gaara's head in strong hands, and Gaara jerked when Kiba pistoned into his mouth without preamble.

"Fuck. _Yeah_." The snarl unmade any portions of Gaara that struggled, and he clawed at Kiba's hip until the angle allowed for air. His raw throat felt stripped, his mind buzzed like a hive of a million bees, and Kiba's grunts of delight became the only tenuous connection Gaara had to reality while Kiba fucked his mouth.

When Kiba withdrew and let him go, Gaara fell back on the bed. Kiba followed, covering Gaara and kissing him with butterfly brushes to Gaara's swollen lips. Fingertips trailed down Gaara's flank, a snick of cap made something sizzle at the base of his spine, and Gaara tossed his head to the side. The cool sheet felt like a balm, and Kiba traced the rim of his ear with a questing tongue tip.

"You here like this is better than the best dream I ever had," Kiba said, and knuckles skimmed from the inside of Gaara's knee to stop at mid inner thigh. "Ya gonna let me help ya feel good, baby? Let me touch you?"

Gaara couldn't answer, couldn't rise above the ticklish sensation on his skin that patiently petted. Gaara's arm flew around Kiba's neck, clung in an unforgiving brace, and he spread his leg in permission. The limb felt so heavy, made of lead and stone, but the rumble of approval in his ear made the rest of Gaara feel lighter than air.

"Reach down for yer cock, sweetheart," Kiba purred, and Gaara could only comply. He grabbed himself and couldn't tell if the thud of his pulse was in his dick or hand or ears or all of the above.

"Good, baby, good," Kiba crooned, and Gaara's eyes flew open when gentle, slick fingers pressed over his asshole. He stared at the line of wall meeting ceiling while Kiba began to massage around the entrance; slippery and consuming.

"Stroke for me," Kiba ordered and Gaara pumped himself from balls to crown. "Slow," Kiba dictated, and Gaara kept the pace to a crawl. He heard himself whine, his cock, which had gone softer in anticipation of pain, began to harden under his ministrations. And still Kiba didn't enter him. Instead, Kiba circled, pressing more firmly with each pass.

"Yer flutterin' for me," Kiba said, nearly a groan. "Feel okay?"

Gaara dipped his chin in a nod, sight losing focus as Kiba's voice flooded his ears, Kiba's scent filled his nose, Kiba's touch narrowed his world, and Kiba's care warmed his core.

"When I say, yer gonna tease yer head, and I'm gonna slide inside. Just one 'til I know yer dyin' for two." Lips kissed Gaara's jaw line, Gaara couldn't catch his breath, and he nodded again in assent.

"Perfect, sweetheart. I got ya."

"I know," Gaara whispered, and he thought he should hate himself for the tear that trickled down his nose, but it seemed like too much effort. Especially when Kiba kissed it away.

"Now," Kiba said, and Gaara stroked up with a ring of thumb and forefinger to concentrate the touch where Kiba wanted it. Gaara's chest heaved against Kiba's weight, and the universe snap-focused on the sensation of Kiba's finger moving within him. A tinge of burn, a shock of pleasure, and Gaara's lungs forced a ragged breath through his mouth.

"Wish you could see yerself," Kiba said, and Gaara managed to blink at Kiba, meet the man's eyes and observe the reverence there. "So beautiful it hurts."

Gaara started to deny it, started to say something, but Kiba shushed him and the finger did a quick in-out-in. "Lemme see ya play with yer balls," Kiba said.

" _Nngh_ …" Gaara let go of his cock, cupped and rolled and squeezed, and Kiba's praise was a low groan. It danced down Gaara's backbone, ignited sparks that threatened to fry his nerves, and kept Gaara in the place where there was only Kiba and Kiba's ability to overwhelm all else.

"Oh yeah… yer ready for two."

Gaara felt Kiba's skin give beneath the press of his nails, and for reasons that Gaara didn't understand, it distracted him in the frozen seconds of time it took for Kiba to withdraw and re-enter with two fingers that sank deeply without pause.

"Oh." Gaara shook, and a part of his mind observed that the motion was entirely out of his control. "Oh. God." The fingers _pressed_ against his insides, Kiba murmured a low hum of wicked satisfaction, and Gaara called out a single, sharp syllable.

"Hand on yer dick, baby," Kiba ordered, starting to move, and Gaara fisted himself. The slow strokes made his entire body tense, arch, dance, and half of him reveled in it while the other half watched in amazement. Over and over Kiba took him, and there was no pain, no revulsion, no nightmare… Only stretching, sizzling, ball-tightening seraphic sensation.

"Stop," Kiba barked when Gaara's body reached a rest before a crescendo. "Arms around me."

Gaara let go of himself, groaning at the loss but willingly wrapping around Kiba in a sweaty clutch. Quickly the thrust of Kiba's fingers turned into a tease, something that made Gaara die in the ache for more.

" _Nn_ … harder…" Gaara hissed. "Faster. Kiba? _Please…"_

Kiba made a guttural, pained sound, and the pace and force increased. Gaara rolled and tensed as he struggled for some semblance of sanity.

"More," Gaara called. "Like it, need it… Fuck… I… can't… just…" The covers were slippery under his back, he caught a crazy inverted view of the headboard, felt teeth over the pounding pulse of his throat, and Kiba's fingers left him. The bereft, abandoned, _openness_ made Gaara twist, but he had to let go of the other man when Kiba sat up.

"Watch," Kiba said, and Gaara almost drowned in the intensity of Kiba's expression. Kiba tore a condom packet open with a rip of teeth, and Gaara followed wide palms and graceful fingers, staring while Kiba got latex over an angry erection. Kiba's hand caught and pushed on the back of Gaara's thigh while coating himself with more lube, and the motion of that capable, practiced touch made Gaara's mouth go dry.

"Legs over my shoulders," Kiba directed, not bothering to wait while Gaara worked out the mechanics. Kiba hooked Gaara's knees into place, bent until he hovered over Gaara's face, and the world tilted on its axis when the head of Kiba's cock pressed against Gaara's body.

"So I can kiss you," Kiba murmured, demonstrating, and Gaara didn't know what he said or did that made Kiba's eyes soften, but he was grateful for it.

"Tell me who's lovin' you, baby."

"You…" Gaara began but choked when Kiba started to push inside, spoke around deep draws of air that refused to fill his lungs. "Ki… ba… _oooh Christ..."_

Deeper, deeper, slow and steady, and then a quick withdraw and thrust toward depth Gaara didn't even know he fucking had. It was not the first time by any means, but there'd never been an instance when his body's reshaping merely made him long for more and didn't make him wish for destruction. Gaara whimpered, and Kiba kissed him, sweet and trembling.

"Ooh…" Gaara couldn't move, he couldn't help, but he could _feel_ and he could _take_ and Gaara shouted his revelation of the good, called out his triumph over terrors past, and cursed his acceptance of present needs.

" _Fuck_ … Kiba… you're _huge…"_

Gaara couldn't tell if Kiba laughed or moaned, maybe both, but then his mouth covered Gaara's, he rocked out and in, and it ceased to matter. Everything hurt and then everything morphed into friction fire, and Gaara could barely muster the brain cells to kiss Kiba back. He fell in a tumble-spiral, down and down as Kiba continued to move, and only Kiba's voice kept him on earth when the heaven that Gaara uncovered by letting go and letting Kiba love him branded him blank, clean, filled.

"Love you," Kiba whispered in time to his rhythm and in between his kisses. "Love you, Gaara."

Rock, sway, drag and slide, and the inferno in Gaara's gut, back, and balls steadily grew. He cried, yelled, called Kiba's name in hope and in vain and knew there was more to be had. _Needed_ there to be. He flexed around the shaft splitting him into two and reshaping him into a beast of uninhibited craving, heard and felt the heaving breath that rushed from Kiba's lungs, and latched onto the back of Kiba's neck with an insistent dig of fingertips.

"More," Gaara growled. "If you're going to fuck me… then _fuck_. Me."

With widening eyes and a cut-off roar of indignant rage, Kiba bit Gaara on the shoulder, leveraged upright, and found balance. "Demanding… little…" he muttered, chest slick and expanding in a fascinating display of muscle and air. He grasped Gaara's thighs, shoved them backward to fold Gaara in half, and rested his weight in a bracing hold that didn’t allow Gaara an inch of give.

"Want it harder, sweetheart?" Kiba slurred with an unkind gleam of teeth, and Gaara moaned as Kiba withdrew, shifted, changed angles until he was positioned directly above Gaara. "Wanna watch me pound yer sweet ass 'til ya beg t'come?"

The words should have inspired anything but the lance of undeniable want that curved Gaara's back in a bow as he tried to meet the tip of Kiba's cock teasing his entrance.

Kiba laughed, and it sent shivers through Gaara. "Hands over yer head, baby."

Gaara reached and grasped the top of the mattress, and Kiba's weight drove resistance and willpower out of him.

"Nice," Kiba praised. "No touchin' that perfect cock 'a yers 'til I'm good 'n ready fer ya t'come."

"Fuck," Gaara said, a tendril of a throaty whisper.

"Sure, baby. Anythin' ya want."

Kiba drove downward with his hips, knocked the wind out of Gaara's body with the startling force of it, and Gaara watched Kiba withdraw nearly all the way before plunging back inside with brutal speed. The position sent Kiba pressing over Gaara's impossibly sensitive prostate, and white tinged the edges of Gaara's vision as Kiba did it again. And again. And--

" _Fuck yes_ !" Gaara yelled with his first full breath, and he groaned around the delicious assault. "God… yes… Kiba… _ooooh_ …"

The only response was a broken snarl, and Gaara couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Kiba vanishing within him. He clung to the bed, unable even to thrash in the jolts of a pleasure so fierce that it bordered on pain. Nerves misfired, Gaara's veins were flooded with microscopic screaming demons demanding that this end in a tower of release, and in mere seconds all Gaara could think about was that if he didn't get off soon, he would wink out of existence.

"Have to come," Gaara said in a thready rush. His stomach and chest were streaked with his cock's sticky fluids, sweat poured and coated his skin, his balls were painfully tight, he couldn't stop shaking, and every muscle he had tightened trying to find end game relief. "Kiba… I… have to… _need_ to… oh _shit_ … _hell…God!"_

Kiba roared something that Gaara registered as an affirmative, and their eyes met. Kiba didn't slow, didn't relent, didn't hesitate, and Gaara saw a set of clenched teeth and a crazed madman living in Kiba, brought to life by Kiba's unquenched lust.

"Do it," Kiba demanded, drops of moisture falling onto Gaara's body below him.

Hand flying to his cock, Gaara stroked just as Kiba let go of one of Gaara's legs. It fell like deadweight onto the bed, and orgasm thunder-rushed Gaara from all sides. His fist flew, he bucked into Kiba's onslaught, and every part of his body shook, tingled, and surrendered to the wracking spasms. Warmth coated his abdomen in ropes, added to the slide, and Gaara ground his jaws on the stuttering whine that tore from him as he started to unwind.

"Oooh," Kiba sigh-groaned, slowing.

"Don't… stop…" Gaara yelled, hand still tugging on his spurting dick. Kiba darkened the air with curses but slammed into Gaara.

" _Nnn-ah_!" The last thrusts ripped a blade of blinding pleasure through Gaara, and he gave himself a last, evil stroke with a twist to the head. Finally with a noise that Gaara never made in the presence of others, he released his cock and shuddered in the aftershocks.

"Oh my… fucking…" Kiba gasped, stopped, and pulled out. He ripped off the condom and wrapped a palm around his dick. His head went back, tendons stood like steel cords along his neck, his abs danced under heated skin, and Gaara struggled onto elbows.

" _Mmmph._ " Kiba breathed in tremulous, broken pants, and Gaara recognized the pattern of, _Oh God, close._

"Kiba," Gaara intoned. He slid to one side, ducked his head, and lapped at Kiba's balls. Kiba's fist fumbled its rhythm, Gaara got lost in the dazed haze of afterglow and the need to see Kiba come, and a warning erupted from Kiba in an unintelligible battle cry. Gaara drew away, gasping as semen hit his chin and landed on his tongue, and Gaara immediately suckled Kiba's cock into his mouth.

" _Ohholyfuck_ ," Kiba cursed, and every breath became a soft, stunned, eager wail as Gaara drank Kiba down with thirsty gulps. It was typically bitter, it was vaguely familiar, and it was the best bliss Gaara'd ever known.

When Kiba bent over Gaara, shaking and steadying one hand on his shoulder, Gaara let go they both collapsed into a heap. Gaara was content not to bother sorting out limbs, blankets, or thoughts, and existence got consumed with the sounds of Kiba's slowing breaths. His tear ducts refused to quit with the waterworks, and he didn't understand that, but he also didn't let it bother him.

Especially not when his shaky breathing made Kiba emit a tender sigh, rearrange them both, and pull Gaara close. "Got ya, sweetheart," Kiba murmured into Gaara's hair.

"You do," Gaara replied, and the truth of the words worked a magic spell that induced relaxation, contentment, and exhaustion.

"Just rest. Ain't goin' nowhere."

"Okay," Gaara agreed, and slumber was upon him just as he heard Kiba whisper:

"Love you. Never lettin' go."

~*~

Gaara woke up comfortable, clean, calm, and in Kiba's arms.

"Hey," Kiba said, brushing Gaara's hair back as Gaara rubbed his eyes. The outdoor lights threw slivers of illumination through the slats in the blinds hanging over the door to the lanai. Gaara didn't answer for a moment, waiting for fallout, the demons of failure, or something bad to crawl out of the darkness.

When he'd counted to sixty and nothing had happened, Gaara went limp. "Hi," he said.

"It's only two-thirty," Kiba said. "Ya slept through the wash down and woke up for the holdin'." He chuckled. "Typical."

Gaara grunted. He began a mental list of pains, found it long and in need of categories, and shifted in search of a more comfortable position.

"Ya hurtin'?"

"Yes," Gaara answered with one eye open to glare at Kiba.

"Don't give me that look," Kiba said with a grin. "Ya asked for it."

"Fuck you."

"Other way 'round, baby."

Gaara groaned, thought about the shotgun under the bed, and sighed.

"Don't ya worry. I'll let ya have yer revenge," Kiba said, kissing Gaara's forehead and crawling out from under the blankets. Gaara didn't think, merely acted, and he stared in confusion at the hand clinging to Kiba's wrist.

"It's okay," Kiba said, pressing their mouths together. Gaara marveled at how natural it felt. How easy. Immediately he relaxed and wondered what would have happened if he had nearly drowned earlier in life.

"Just gettin' some 'a the pain pills I saw in the bathroom. I'll be right back, sweetheart."

Gaara let go, Kiba smiled at him, and Gaara watched Kiba's scratched backside leave the room. Tentatively, he searched his mind and found only the kind of peace that came after being with Kiba. He hurt, yes, and he strangely wanted Kiba as close as possible, but there was no anger, remorse, or horror to be found. He felt none of the turmoil that had forced him into the pool, none of the impotent rage over the events of the last week.

Just existence and the memory of Kiba inside his body still fresh, alive, distracting. Gaara rolled and inhaled the sheets, wadded up a pillow and pressed his face into it. A low laugh interrupted his efforts to imprint more of Kiba on his senses, and Gaara didn’t even turn to confirm it was merely Kiba at his back. The lack of defensive need stunned Gaara, but his examination got derailed when a warm palm petted his arm.

"Anybody ever told ya that yer cute after ya get off?" Kiba asked, and Gaara turned to see Kiba sitting on the edge of the bed holding two white pills and a glass of water.

"No," Gaara answered, sitting up.

"Damn shame," Kiba said as Gaara took the medicine and drained the glass. The swallowing made him aware of his swollen jaw, and he grimaced.

"Yeah," Kiba said, taking the glass and putting it on the nightstand. "Think ya owe me for that, too."

A variety of images came to Gaara's mind about how best to repay Kiba in kind. "Part of my revenge," Gaara said.

Kiba flashed a grin. "Ya flirtin' with me, now?"

Gaara thought about it. "Yes?"

Kiba laughed, and the sound inspired entire gardens of happiness in Gaara's mind. He reached for Kiba, hands on the man's cheeks, and something swirled to settle on his tongue. Words to say, emotions to feel, understanding almost ready to claim. Kiba let Gaara hold on, didn't question or move away or do anything but caress Gaara's arm.

"I…" Gaara began, frowned, and felt everything ebb away like a tide he chased.

"Yeah?" Kiba asked.

"…thank you."

"Anytime, baby." Kiba took both of Gaara's hands in his, kissed each of the palms. "Ya look pretty awake. Gonna go get some ice for that jaw, maybe a bandage or two. Then I hold ya and we sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah," Gaara echoed, and he mapped Kiba's features all over again. Memorized the mole near Kiba's left ear, the shadow of stubble, and he wished there was more light in the room so he could see the exact jade of the eyes he so adored.

"Good." Kiba stood. "Be right back, sweetheart."

Gaara watched Kiba leave, listened for the footfalls on the stairs leading up to the kitchen, and he eased onto his back, hands clasped over his chest. He couldn't remember being so tired, and he allowed his eyelids to droop. The soft thud in the room above him made Gaara's lips twitch, and he touched his own mouth to feel the smile.

_Kiba…_

Everything felt too good, too easy, and his instincts stirred. They were old and exhausting, but so often useful that Gaara couldn't dismiss them out of hand. Yes, he understood it wouldn't always be this simple. When his mind was clearer, he vowed to work out what to do about the medication he'd been avoiding, about the therapy he knew he still needed, and about the plan he wanted to make so he could be as sane as he got for the savior in his life. He did understand that there was a lot of work ahead of them, but even at the thought of the word "them" Gaara's heart skipped a beat. It made Gaara feel half out of his mind, like he was going an entirely different kind of crazy, but it also felt so damned--

A short slice of air, a pause, a thud.

Gaara went still and ice filled his guts. He thought he knew those sounds, memory nagged, pestered and then screeched, but all Gaara could think about were bleeding angels. He kept his eyes closed, forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose and out his mouth, and prepared for what his sight would show him. He could handle it. He'd coped with far worse.

_And it's all right. Kiba's just upstairs._

The thought gave Gaara a new kind of strength, and he turned his head in the darkness, began scanning the room for nightmares when he heard it again--

_Sssin-foomp… thud._

Gaara didn't see angels. He didn't see visions. He saw drawn drapes and the shadows in the room shift.

_Somebody's outside. Near the pool._

Moving quickly and silently, Gaara slithered away from the point of entry, across the mattress, and onto the floor. He grabbed a pair of discarded pajama pants and put them on, staying in a crouch and listening so hard he thought his eardrums would rupture with the effort. He didn't hear Kiba upstairs. He didn't hear anyone at all.

Gaara rolled to his stomach and grabbed the twelve-gauge from its rack under the bed frame. It was loaded with buck and ball shells, and Gaara kept his eyes on the drapes while ignoring the ammo carton he kept next to the gun. He may or may not have time to reload, would need both hands to fire, and if it took more than five shotgun rounds to cut through the intruders, Gaara was probably fucked.

Thirty seconds after the second dull thud that came from the other side of the windows, Gaara crept over to the curtains. He stayed as flat as possible to the floor, forced his breathing even and slow, and flinched when the third set of sounds came from behind him.

_Outside. The lanai. Shit._

As Gaara reached for the drapes, his mind linked that particular series of noises to experience. His pulse spiked, adrenalin slowed time and sharpened his senses, and Gaara pushed aside fabric and peeled down a slat.

A dead man's eyeball was level with Gaara's, and blood pooled in a black corona. The man's eyelid was split, the back of the man's head and most of the man's face was missing, and Gaara counted four broken silver-capped teeth lying a foot away. The man wore black clothing, no body armor, and there was a discarded .357 on the grass nearby. Gaara dropped the blinds and curtain, mind whirling.

There were intruders, but there also appeared to be individuals picking them off with long-ranged rifles. It explained the sounds and the amount of carnage done to the dead guy. He didn't know which side was comprised of people Gaara needed to kill, but he thought it likely that the distance shooters were at least nominally on Gaara's side. Why else waste time killing people attempting to breach Gaara's defenses?

Granted, the dead guy apparently didn't know every piece of glass in Gaara's house was reinforced and could withstand most gunfire even at close range. Gaara tested it himself.

However, if the distance shooters were using high caliber rounds and were, in fact, working together with the recently deceased, then taking out the glass and Gaara, himself, wouldn't be a real issue. Since the glass and house were still intact and Gaara was still alive, he had to assume that there were good guys in the field and, by his count, at least three corpses on his property.

_Sssin-foomp… thud._

Four, Gaara mouthed, just as the silence cracked with screams and explosions and the hell Gaara knew would eventually come for him broke loose from its bondage to find Gaara in his home.

~*~  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Well. That escalated quickly. These poor men… Do not… catch… a break. Read on, dear reader - and thank you for journeying with me this far!!
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [Prison Sex - Tool](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eYb5f1LqZ0). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> It took so long to remember just what happened  
> I was so young and vestal then  
> You know it hurt me  
> But I'm breathing so I guess I'm still alive  
> Even if signs seem to tell me otherwise  
> I've got my hands bound  
> My head down, my eyes closed  
> And my throat wide open
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love & Snipers,  
> ♥Dee


	22. Chapter 22

A thump, a wail, and the front door of Gaara's house slammed against the interior wall.

_"Somebody shoot that son of a bitch!"_

A crash, a squeak of shoe on tile, and Gaara listened to the push-shove movement of bodies.

"I don’t know where--"

_"The wall! He's on the fucking-"_

A chatter of gunfire drowned the voices, and Gaara got his feet under him. Staying low and weaving around the bed, he flung himself next to the door leading into the room. Gaara glanced at the clock on the nightstand and the distinct lack of red numerals sent cold tendrils to entwine with Gaara's insides. Unless Kiba had unplugged the clock for some reason, then Gaara suspected the electricity to the house was down. The pool safety lights still glowed, but they were solar powered. Somebody would have to shoot out the individual bulbs to pitch them into total darkness.

“Where the hell is Benny?” someone yelled, and Gaara wondered if Benny was the one in charge of cutting connections. He felt his face form a madman’s grin, mind spinning with possibilities. If the enemy had tried to short the electricity, then they might have had the forethought to disable the security system. The sheer numbers and weaponry already told Gaara that these were no ordinary thugs or burglars, and the organization of the hit confirmed it. Gaara took deep, slow breaths to channel calm, jerking when he heard the sound of slate crumbling.

_They’re firing at the covered walkway leading between the garage and the front door._

More chaos: yelling, bullets cracking the night. “There’s nobody there!”

“Then who the _bloody fuck_ is _shooting_ , asshole?”

Gaara would love to know that, too, but it wasn’t the time to ponder the erratic kindnesses of the universe. He tried to get a feel for how long it’d been since he’d heard the first long-range shot. A minute? Maybe a minute-thirty?

Because if the security system was down, then Gaara had a couple of advantages. The house was rigged with not one but two alarms: the first for the cops and the second for Jody. A patrol car was likely on its way, standard practice if the alarm failed for any reason and no one could be reached by phone. Gaara wasn’t sure where his cell was, and it didn’t matter much, now. The threat was on the premises, and he would have to wait for help. It would take between five and ten minutes for the police to arrive, however, and Gaara knew exactly how much destruction such a window could allow.

The dull sound of impact preceded a slur of curses and more return fire. “Who the hell _is this guy?”_

Gaara stayed put for the moment, trying to think. If something happened to the first alarm, then a wireless signal went to a base in Jody's house, sent an alert to his cell phone, and a pager beeped in Jody's car. Sort of a pain in the ass during thunderstorms, but both men knew safety wasn’t meant to be a convenient thing. If Jody was home, which Gaara hoped to hell the man was, then Jody was on the way, if not already on scene. Last Gaara checked, Jody didn’t own any long range, large caliber rifles, but Gaara didn’t exactly keep track of Jody’s firearm purchases.

"Get inside you idiots! And don't kill the redhead. He's fucking _mine_."

Gaara's heart slowed, nearly stopped. He knew that voice, matched it with a set of gold-capped teeth and a chop shop, and pure rage poured from his core to fill him with the screeching harpies of blood lust. He switched off the push-button safety, drew lower to the floor, and swung around the door frame. The hallway was clear, and Gaara felt a surge of triumph that he'd redone his house plan so that the path to the master suite was a choke point. The edges of his vision blurred with his thudding pulse, and he ran forward in a crouch.

"Asshole got Benny and Teege!" yelled a man in Vince's posse. “They’re dead. _They’re fucking dead!”_ He sounded manic, hyped up on meth or speed, as was standard Dog protocol, and somebody started bellowing and firing an automatic. At the wall, at the outdoors, at another member of Vince's group, Gaara didn't know. He was just grateful the racket covered any noise he made while moving into position.

"Cut that shit out and get down that hallway and find--" Vince began, and Gaara leaned around the corner. In a lightning strike second, he mapped the positions of the men invading his turf.

Vince stood on the stairs with another man two risers up and heading toward the second floor. A cluster of punks, two of whom Gaara recognized from their visit to the auto shop, hunkered around the front entrance. Gaara breathed in and counted five heads in the group. He held the air in his lungs and saw another man take a step backward across the front threshold, more automatic reports shattering the night. The Dog standing mostly outside was still shooting at whomever had killed the men on the lanai, and Gaara bet Vince's gang didn't know there was a second marksman on Gaara's side. No way could one person take out people by the pool and by the window to Gaara's bedroom. The angles would be all wrong.

"--me the goddamned redhead!" Vince finished. Gaara brought up the shotgun's nose, sighting the closest kid. He didn’t bother to announce his presence, contemplate what the two outdoor shooters were doing or who they were or even why any of this was happening. A flash of Kiba's smile flickered and faded in his mind, and he squeezed the rifle's trigger. The boom was deafening in the enclosed space. Gaara's ears rang, and he chambered another shell while a gang member in plaid pants and leather jacket exploded to coat the walls with red chunks and shredded organs. Gaara was only fifteen feet away. The buck and ball round tore completely through the first Dog and made the next one stagger and scream.

In his periphery, Gaara saw Vince make for the next floor, the other Dog ahead of the leader. Gaara heard yelling upstairs and didn't recognize Kiba's voice. Gaara's guts contracted in sheer fear that got swallowed by more adrenaline-fueled anger, and Gaara fired again. The next round took out a Dog holding two automatics. As the kid went down, bullets peppered the wall to Gaara's left, hit the ceiling, and bits of plaster fell in a rain shower across Gaara's bare shoulders. The Dog flew backward with a hole where his heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys used to be.

A chorus of cursing cries ricocheted, and Gaara retreated around the corner when he saw a Dog slip on the dead man's entrails and go down on one knee, pistol up in a two-handed grip. Holes appeared above the baseboards at the end of the hallway, and Gaara racked the shotgun.

"Boss wants him!" someone yelled, the words muted, watery, and broken to Gaara's rattled sense of hearing.

"Fuck that! Bitch is gonna kill--"

Gaara calculated, braced the twelve gauge's butt with one palm, thrust the shotgun around the corner, and fired. He tried to move with the kick, but the fingers of his right hand went numb with impact. The gun clattered to the floor, he dragged it back to him with a quick dive, and the choking, rasping sound of death cleared the fog in Gaara's ears. A piercing scream sent a surge of victory down Gaara's spine, and he risked a glance around the corner.

The kneeling, rebellious Dog's shoes and lower legs were still oddly in place, but the rest of him was in pieces that blended with the heaping pile of remains. The screamer was a kid sprawled on the stairs clutching his side, and Gaara saw the final Dog make a run for it through the door.

Gaara got up, flexed his right arm and hand and watched the bloodied fingers move. The sensation was coming back, and distantly it hurt, but Gaara ignored it. He braced the gun against his shoulder, stepped over most of the gore in his foyer, and swung the barrel to point at the panicked Dog on the steps.

"Don't--!" the boy started to yell, arms coming up to cover his head.

Gaara shot the kid point blank, sucked in a breath tainted by the smell of shit, urine, blood, and gunpowder, and whirled to the sound of a pistol firing, one- _two_. He brought up the shotgun level with Jody's chest just as the big man appeared on the stoop.

"Boss," Jody said, lowering his .45's aim to the ground. A clip-fed automatic hung from a strap across his shoulders, an ammo pouch dangled from his belt, and he seemed unhurt though a wet stain shone on his t-shirt and denim-clad thighs.

"There’s a van near the tree line, driver done for. One car, driveway. Dead guy behind the wheel, shot through the windshield. Somebody's packin' a punch, and it ain't me. Two more bodies by the pool. Downed a runner on the walkway. No lights, and somethin's jammin' my phone's signal." Jody reached into the back of his pants, withdrew another .45 and handed it to Gaara.

"More upstairs," Gaara said, working the slide and throwing the safety. "Vince, one other."

"Where's--" Jody said but stopped when a howl of rage erupted from the second story and made them both flinch.

"MOTHER-FUCKER!"

"Kiba," Gaara said and jumped over the dead Dogs. His feet mashed into something that gave with a squelch, and he nearly lost his balance. Jody grabbed his arm, Gaara steadied himself, and he stayed low to the wooden planks. The stairs opened onto the great room without cover, but Gaara couldn't manage the panic at the idea that Kiba might be hurt with the logic yelling at him to think through a plan.

Kiba was in danger. Gaara had to destroy the threat. And it was exactly that simple.

“Boss, keep your head fuckin’ down!” Jody hissed, but the words didn’t have time to register. The instant Gaara's foot slapped against the hardwood at the top of the staircase, time stopped, and he knew three things.

One: Kiba was injured. He knelt in front of Vince, and his face was bloody, his eyes were wide, and Vince stood over him with a fist in Kiba's hair. Kiba thrashed, Vince grappled with him, and Kiba's mouth moved to form Gaara's name, but Gaara didn't hear him over rushing breaths and the church bells ringing in Gaara’s ears.

Two: Gaara had miscalculated Vince's numbers. There were two other men in the room, not one, and both were off to Gaara's right. Vaguely, he registered that the balcony door was open, that off to the left there was a mess on the kitchen floor, that the freezer was open, and that all those details should add up to something important, but he dismissed it when Vince and the two Dogs all raised their weapons.

Three: These were the last few moments of Gaara’s life. The fact was a cold, calm weight that anchored and grounded him. And if Gaara was about to die, then first he would make good on his promise to annihilate the man who stole Gaara’s potential happiness. Peace and clarity steadied him, and he raised the pistol to aim at Vince's forehead. Kiba yanked away from Vince, hair ripping, and Vince spoke around a grin. Gaara would never know what the man said. A high-pitched sound like someone holding an operatic soprano note drowned out all other aural input, and Gaara squeezed the Beretta’s trigger.

Vince’s arm and the gun flung and fired at nothing, and the shot went wild. Vince rocked backward like a limp doll, and Kiba scrambled upright in staggering slow motion. A wrecking ball hit Gaara in the side, shoved him, and he flew to the left with the impact. Weird, hot, ticklish sensations blossomed throughout his body, made him want to claw at his skin. Weightlessness inspired vertigo, and he watched the floor rushing at him, knew that meant gravity was winning and that he was falling, but nothing answered his brain's cry to cushion the incoming blow.

Gaara must have blinked or blacked out or slipped through a worm hole because the next thing he knew, his head hurt with the ache of ten hangovers, and his view was skewed sideways.

"Gaara!"

A man yelled his name from across a canyon, and Gaara jerked. He tried to breathe, but it hurt. A lot. And he really didn't want to do that anymore. Motes of light dazzled his vision, and he squinted, wishing they would stop.

"I got ya, baby. Can ya hear me?"

Gaara wanted to answer, to calm the terror in the other person’s voice, but he couldn't remember how to speak. His brain thought that was strange, and his body apparently didn't like the amnesia. It started to shake and thrash, trapping Gaara in the rattling cage of broken flesh, and he felt pressure like sandbags on all sides.

"Help him! Goddammit! _Help him_!"

Reason and logic woke up from their joint nap, and Gaara focused. Kiba loomed above him, and Kiba's nose was broken. Distantly -- like he relived a memory of a story he once knew -- Gaara wanted to cry. He didn't like Kiba hurt at all. Not one little bit. Because Gaara loved Kiba and--

"Hey, sweetheart," Kiba said, voice tremulous. Kiba wiped his eyes, and Gaara _hated_ that Kiba’s cheeks were wet. Couldn't figure out the why of this reality, and all Gaara wanted was to comfort the man somehow. Gaara tried to move, but the path between intent and action was broken.

"Yer gonna be fine, baby. Just a little banged up, s'all."

Another face crowded Gaara's vision, and he knew that man, too, though it took a moment for him to find the name in his mind.

"Stay with us, Gaara," Kakashi said, calmly, and he turned to look somewhere else. "Keep the pressure, Jody. Kisuke, get me the--"

"On it," said yet another voice, and Gaara coughed. Something was seriously wrong with his insides, and above him, Kiba started to sob in earnest.

"Hey," Kiba said, word barely recognizable. He pet Gaara's cheek, and it felt nice. "Don't go nowhere, okay? Not when I finally figured out a way to get ya in my arms without a fight."

"Ki--" Gaara tried, coughed, and Kiba shook his head and made little hushing noises.

"Don't try to talk, baby. You're… it's… just…"

"It's okay," Gaara wheezed. He _had_ to tell Kiba… Something very, very important. And he had to do it before the motes in his eyes got any worse. Before the numbness spreading up from his feet stole what sense and feeling Gaara had left.

_Before it was too late._

"Boss?"

Jody's voice drifted to cover Gaara like a soothing blanket of warmth, and Gaara swallowed copper.

"You just hang right in there for me, okay?"

"It's all right," Gaara repeated, and he lost track of himself for a little while. The cold reached his neck, and it was like Gaara could see himself thrashing around on the living room floor. Kakashi and Kisuke --

_What the hell is he doing…?_

\-- and Jody tore off Gaara’s clothing. Jody held Gaara’s side, and from the amount of force the man applied, Gaara thought it should really, really hurt. Kisuke fiddled with a red bag on the floor nearby, slipped a needle into Gaara’s arm. Gaara didn’t feel it, and he glanced down at himself. His skin was strange, paler than normal, and he was naked, but that didn’t bother him so much. He wasn’t cold at all. In fact, he felt bathed in sunshine. Surrounded by brightness and lightness and… peace. Gaara shook off the sensation, unable to reconcile feeling normal and being allowed to watch while feeling nothing and being held in Kiba’s arms.

Because Kiba was there – right there. Kiba cradled Gaara’s head, stroked his hair, kissed him. Gaara tried to talk, tried to yell and scream and get attention, but the men ignored him. Anger welled, and Gaara stared at himself and _willed_ his two selves back together.

In a blink, the world narrowed to agony, chill, and exhaustion. It took everything Gaara had within him to fix a gaze on Kiba, to reach up to Kiba’s startled face and touch Kiba's cheek, to make his vocal cords obey despite the desperate drums beating a slower and slower rhythm that was quickly lulling Gaara to sleep.

"I think…" Gaara said. Kiba kissed him, and Gaara tasted salt and blood and the essences of the living. “I think I’m--"

"Shut up, baby," Kiba said. "I love you, but shut up. They're tryin', and the paramedics are--"

"Kiba," Gaara said clearly, meeting wide, pretty, green eyes and loving them so much it made Gaara feel weightless.

“I love you,” Gaara said, starting to drift upward. “And I finally...”

“Gaara? Sweetheart? Don’t--"

“I finally _understand.”_

“I know, baby. I know. I love you, too.”

And the words were but a whisper that ushered Gaara into the brilliant flash of white.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ We're not done just yet, everyone. Hang in there.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is: [After the Storm - Mumford and Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqRJIlHxyWU). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> And after the storm,  
> I run and run as the rains come  
> And I look up, I look up,  
> on my knees and out of luck,  
> I look up. 
> 
> Night has always pushed up day  
> You must know life to see decay  
> But I won't rot, I won't rot  
> Not this mind and not this heart,  
> I won't rot. 
> 
> And I took you by the hand  
> And we stood tall,  
> And remembered our own land,  
> What we lived for. 
> 
> And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.  
> And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.  
> Get over your hill and see what you find there,  
> With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love,  
> ♥Dee


	23. Chapter 23

_Souls at night._

A man shuffles down a two-lane highway with a bag over his shoulder and his last smoke between his dirty fingers. It's too cold in these small hours of the frigid morning for his thin coat and thinner shirt, and he walks with the shoulder-creep of the intoxicant dependent and the forever chilled. He thinks there's a place to rest out this way, though; a shop on the fringes of this sinful city’s limits. Thinks there's maybe an overhang to sit under so he can weather the coming sleet. He hopes for a trash can with the leftovers of careless people who can afford to buy food someone else cooks, and he longs for a scrap of cardboard to serve as a bed. Just for the rest of this quiet night, just until dawn. The shop's business is cars, its clients have cash, and the man knows his kind isn't welcome by the light of daytime and deal making. It's how the world of the moneyed half works, and he doesn't want to piss it off and go back to Monoshizukanohi lock down. There's a guy there who guards the drunk tank, and that guy has a smile that's a key to hell's door, and that guy has a fist that's a ticket to Satan's bedroom.

Sirens crack the night like an egg's shell to the side of the man's head, and for a second he is stupid with fear. He jerks to look just in time to stumble out of the way and into a ditch, watching mutely as the firemen, the policemen, and the lifesavers fly by in a dizzying line of wheels, ruckus, and blinding blue and red. He drops his cigarette and curses Fate's mother, and the wind whips through the trees. It slithers under his clothing, it wraps around his guts, and the sound of the ambulance's infantile cry morphs into a woman's laugh. It whirls around the man, cackling and crazy, and he is stock still with one shoe on a white line and the other in a pile of decayed leaves. He thinks of Grandmame's talk of devils and decadence and death, and he shudders when the tail lights of the caterwauling caravan fade in the mist of freezing falling rain.

Drops splatter the pavement, dampen the man's clothes, wet the dormant earth, and fill the cracks of the twisting driveway leading from Akasuna Auto to the ambulance's destination. It’s a modestly large house with a wall, a detached garage, and it is crawling with shadowy movement. Lights hit the low cloud ceiling overhead, put on a kaleidoscope show, and Andy has to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting a black sedan parked between two patrol cars.

"What's wrong with this picture?" Andy -- young, new, hopeful -- asks his partner, Theo -- roughly a hundred, veteran, exhausted.

"We're late to the party," Theo answers.

"Coroner, cops… and is that the Chief of Police?" Andy only knows because the little boy in him still lives for cops and robbers, and he loves the good guys. He never misses the front page of the newspaper or any pages from the gossip column. He thinks he knows the movers and shakers of this land, and he puts the truck into park, opens the door, and gets a facefull of icy reality.

"Don't know, don't care," Theo calls, voice nearly lost beneath the crackle of short wave radios, the shouts of men, the whooping cough of sirens. Andy's confused, and he wonders about the dispatcher who sent them to this address. It wasn't Janet. But maybe she's out sick and maybe it doesn't matter because Andy has a job to do. He opens the back of the ambulance and the four cups of coffee he's had to stay awake almost run down his leg when a blond man covered in gore comes out of nowhere and grabs his elbow.

"Multiple gunshot wounds," the blond spectre explains. "Weak pulse, lung's collapsed, lots of bleeding."

"Lead on," Theo says when Andy can do nothing but stare at the blond's eyes. They gleam clear then dark then calculating, and Andy feels like calling this person's time even though the blond is the ambulatory dead.

The blond nods, spins, Andy grabs his half of the equipment, and they cut a swath through a river of tape, tasks, and teeming men. They pass a plunge pool with mounds of flesh that used to be people nearby, and Andy stops himself from asking what the hell happened. It doesn't matter. Somewhere there's someone to save.

"Watch it," cautions a woman in uniform when the trio enters the house. She points to a body on the stairs, and there’s enough pieces in the foyer that Andy thinks they might add up to two separate wholes. Over and up, blood shining on his black shoes, and Andy half-runs, reaching the top floor with adrenaline thrumming.

There are dead people everywhere, and they look like gray mist to Andy's second sight. No souls. No life. No saving. But he sees three men kneeling and gleaming. There's a big guy shrouded in green like spring fields, and the Greenman's got fingers plugging wounds and lips forming the Lord's Prayer. There's a white-haired guy wrapped in orangey-blue, and Blueman’s got a tube in a vein feeding life to the fallen. There's a naked guy with a broken nose who is red and ripped and torn asunder, and Brokenman’s got a fist around an air bag covering the victim's mouth and nose. Broken's shaking but methodically pumping and breathing for the fourth man in the middle.

The victim's pale and still, and Andy starts to tell them to quit, but from the corner of his eye, he sees _movement_ . The kind of movement that Theo won't see, that _most_ don't see, but that Andy's Mom could and did and still does. The air shimmers over Brokenman’s bare shoulders, hovering, and Andy's heart soars. It's not over, yet. And the hope is louder than Brokenman's quiet sobs.

"Oh good," says the white-haired guy with a wan smile. "I'm just about tapped."

Andy and Theo analyze, strategize, and get to work. When they relieve Greenman from duty, he sighs and wipes tears off his cheeks.

"Our Father… who art in heaven…" Greenman starts the chant again, low, drawling laced with weighty power, and he removes his outer shirt. He crawls over to Brokenman, wraps the weeping man with cotton and into a bear hug just as Andy takes the bag. Brokenman starts to wail in hiccoughing gulps, out of mind with shock and grief so thick it pours yellow mist into the room, and Greenman starts to rock Brokenman; gathers the distraught man into a wide lap and against a broad chest.

"Thine will be done…" Greenman says, gently grasping the arm and then the hand that Brokenman still holds out toward the victim. "On earth as it is in heaven."

"G-Ga-Gaara," Brokenman stammers, fracturing further, and Greenman forces Brokenman's face to turn into Greenman's neck and away from the horror show.

"Shh," Greenman soothes, and Andy likes this guy with his low drawl, peaceful nature, and haunted eyes.

"Please give us this day our daily bread," Greenman continues, and Theo crosses himself, absently, before starting to figure out the white-haired man's hook up to the victim. Andy brushes red hair away from a pasty forehead, sees the tattoo inscribed upon skin and recognizes the symbol for " _Love_."

"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

The blond spectre with a winter's soul wanders away from life's labors and over to a pair of double doors, the glass broken. He steps over a corpse like he does it every day and steps onto a balcony. The rain's making puddles on the hardwood inside the threshold, staining the boards darker and beading, and ice is chipping in little pings against the wrought-iron furniture sitting outside on terra-cotta tile.

"And lead us not into temptation… but deliver us from evil…"

The blond lifts a radio to his mouth, and his voice is cold and calm and impossible to read. "Captain this is Fawkes. Red is on the move."

"For thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory forever."

Over the railing, around the house, past the officer marveling at the destruction of a human's skull, and to the perimeter wall where a mountain of a bald man stands with a walkie-talkie in one hand and a cell phone in the other. He's drenched, his long leather coat is soaked, but he doesn’t care. He’s had worse. The pants covering his lower half and dusting the tops of his combat boots are patterned with little robots but nobody would dare comment on the anomaly to this towering inferno of a man. He barks orders to a team, presses the radio’s switch, and the rage in his eyes could evaporate glaciers. "Message confirmed, Fawkes. You and Glow get everyone down here. The Prince is waiting. "

"Of course, Captain," says the radio, and it's smug.

"That's _Chief_ ," says the mountain, and it's dangerous.

"Noted." A pause. "Chief."

The mountain allows himself a second to hate insolence and then begins to move, long strides taking him through the driving downpour and toward the black sedan that Andy nearly hit. He changes the frequency channel on his radio to a more public one, speaks into it again. What he hears makes him nod, and he climbs into the car. "We've got Red," he says into the phone. "Working the clean up, and no press, yet. Leaving my second in command on scene. I'll see you at General."

The chief bows his head, bracing for a blow that he will feel even at a distance. A crow takes flight from the top of the nearby garage, and spreads wings toward the auto shop. The homeless man with the bag and muddy shoes rests against the gate, settling down for his last night on earth. He will freeze to death by dawn. One more gathered soul on a night of reaping. One more mess to tidy for the crew of people working to dam the tide of chaos.

The crow settles in the branches of a slumbering tree, but the line of its path arches over field, wood, and neighborhood, and in his house, Neji stands at the kitchen island, drinking a cup of tea. His hand shakes as he brings the china to his lips, his hair is in a messy braid, and the tails of his buttoned shirt hang loose over a pair of jeans. "I expect details, Ibiki," he says, the headset in his ear picking up every note of annoyance in his cultured, sleepy voice. He hits a button and cuts off the chief of police's explanation. He doesn't wish to hear it twice.

"Okay," Shikamaru announces himself as he walks into the room, phone in hand and fingers sliding over the touch screen. "I called the kids who work in Gaara's shop, left messages. I spoke to Melody, and she will manage your appointments and make excuses for the next two days, minimum. Tenzou's going to call an emergency staff meeting at the clubs and put up notices on Twitter and Facebook that Bliss and Break will be closed until at least next weekend. He's going to figure out the Fetish Ball nonsense, too. I didn't get Naruto, but I did get Sasuke, and he's going to get Naruto up and meet us at…" Shikamaru trails off and looks at Neji.

"Monoshizukanohi General Hospital," Neji supplies, and Shikamaru taps a text message.

Neji brushes by his typing lover, finishing the tea and setting the cup on a random end table near a sweeping staircase. The blue teacup cracks with the impact, and Neji startles, shocked for an instant before dismissing the event. He fetches his wool coat from the closet, and removes Shikamaru's Northface while he's at it.

"Is he…" Shikamaru starts, taking the coat from Neji and getting the gloves out of the pockets.

"I don't know." Neji wraps a scarf too tightly around his throat. "Kakashi's there, too, with Kisuke and Jody. Almost a dozen dead on arrival, and nobody knows if… And I don't _know_ how the hell this got so botched or what happened, yet, but I _will_ know, they _will_ tell me, and I _will_ \--"

"Hush," Shikamaru says, buttoning Neji's coat and straightening the collar.

"But it's all my--" Neji begins.

"No."

Neji stares at the other man for a long time and then suddenly grabs the back of Shikamaru's neck, yanks him into a kiss that begins with force that transforms into desperate passion. Neji’s hands thrust under Shikamaru's jacket, grapple shirt and belt and the waist of his jeans, and Neji shoves Shikamaru into a wall with violence that Shikamaru doesn't fight.

"Sir," Shikamaru says, fingers reverently touching Neji's cheek. "We should -- _oooh_ …"

"I know," Neji answers, squeezing and stroking Shikamaru through denim and hurriedly undoing the Nara's fly. "But I need this now."

Shikamaru's daze gets hazy when Neji's lips kiss Shikamaru's with a tenderness undermined by Neji ripping his sweater up to reveal Shikamaru's chest, other hand on Shikamaru's firming cock.

"And you will allow me this," Neji whispers, diving to bite Shikamaru's nipple.

" _Yes_!" Shikamaru answers, face crumpling and arms sliding for purchase along the wall, hands forming fists.

"Hair," Neji commands, sinking to one knee. Shikamaru shoves fingers into the braid, wraps to twist until Neji grunts, and Shikamaru calls out when Neji swallows him to the root. He breathes in vocal, erratic, startled gasps that get louder as Neji works with knowing, confident efficiency. Bob, lick, suck, and Neji tugs Shikamaru's jeans lower to get a palm around his balls, a tug and caress joining the circus of torment.

"God," Shikamaru rasps, head tipping forward and glazed eyes watching with parted lips and flushed cheeks. "Oh God… Sir… I…"

Neji moans, the sounds of wet flesh sliding and suckling filling the room, and dribbles of saliva fall to the tile next to Neji's knee. Gray eyes snap open, flick up to lock on Shikamaru's, and the Nara shudders, lower lip caught beneath upper teeth. A mere moment later and Neji's muffled and muddled shout of delight is cut off in the middle when Shikamaru tenses taut and clutches Neji's hair as he comes.

"Oh…" Shikamaru chokes. "Oh _fuck_ … oh _shit_ …Sir… _Nnngh_ …"

Neji slows, swallowing until Shikamaru shakily laughs an urgent " _Ha_!", growing too sensitive for these games. Neji fastens Shikamaru's clothing and stands, kissing the Nara with light, quick presses of lips until arms wrap around his waist.

"Thank you," Neji murmurs, adjusting himself and not asking for return favors.

"Happy to… help, Sir," Shikamaru replies, nuzzling at Neji's throat until Neji hums and steps away.

"Now we can go," Neji says, and Shikamaru gathers enough of his wits to set the alarm, follow Neji out the door, and lock it behind them. The two men head toward the garage, and Neji keys in a code on the pad next to the bay housing the Ferrari.

"Two more calls to make." Neji still remembers to get Shikamaru's door, and Shikamaru says nothing about the old habit.

"Oh?" Shikamaru asks as Neji settles behind the wheel and retrieves a blue light from under the seat.

"Yes," Neji says, plugging in and turning on the light that will clear them past police as they break new speed records to get to the hospital. "Ulquiorra's an investigator, a bookie, an agent, and a reporter. I want him covering this mess and managing the goddamned press. Kakashi's going to be busy enough." Neji pulls out his phone from his pocket, scanning and hitting "Send" and then touching the headset in his ear.

"And the other call?" Shikamaru asks.

Neji shifts, flying through the gear machinations, and in a high rise condo downtown, a phone begins to vibrate on a nightstand. A hand emerges from a pile of floral-patterned covers, and Sakura's answering the call on autopilot before she's even a quarter conscious.

"Haruno." Sakura finds the lightswitch on the lamp, and a cheerful yellow glow illuminates her bedroom. "Neji?" she asks, swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress. She listens, eyes tracking nothing until she gets up and heads for her closet. "I'm on my way," she says, clicking off the phone and grabbing a set of clean scrubs. She dresses, and some tiny part of her wants to cry, but she silences it easily with the benefit of experience. She gets her shoes, already doing the mental exercises that prepare her for a long night in the OR. By the time she's riding the elevator to the lobby and racing for a cab, Sakura is awake, prepared for the worst, and grateful for the achingly cold rain that further clears her mind. She slams herself into the taxi--

"Monoshizukanohi General, please."

\-- and the taxi driver mutters at her in a heavy accent. Above the city, heavy clouds roll through the atmosphere, and below on the streets, people and purpose converge upon the hospital.

Ibiki's badge gets him a spot near the staff entrance into the Emergency Room, and he sits behind the wheel waiting for the paramedics to arrive. He's tired, but he's not worried about how this will end. He will do his duty, he will report to the Prime Minister's son, and maybe when things calm down, he'll give Genma a call. He likes the boy, and Raidou, too. Possibly too much for anybody's good.

Kakashi and Kisuke beat the ambulance, their dark van sliding into the parking lot in front of the ER's main entrance. Without a word, they climb out of the vehicle in sync, and Kisuke shrugs under Kakashi's arm.

“Iruka’s going to fucking kill me,” Kakashi mutters.

“Yes,” Kisuke agrees, but kindly.

Kakashi is drained, and thinking of nothing but the redhead’s fate and his lover’s arms. Kisuke is silent and thinks of a funeral where the snow fell thick on the ground. When they limp into the lobby, some combination of appearance, grime, and presence gets them attention fast.

Or maybe it's Kisuke's thundering, authoritative bellow for service. Whatever it is, it works, and Kakashi chuckles as they're ushered into triage.

Andy pulls bus number 309 behind the hospital and swings it around for rear access. He gets out of the cab while Theo opens the back. Andy pauses as a silver sports car careens into the service area behind him like it’s a pit stop in the Indy 500, and right behind the Ferrari are two patrol cars and a hospital security Jeep. It is certainly a night of oddity, and Andy trots to help Theo lift Gaara's gurney off the tracks and onto the rolling cart two nurses hold waiting.

"Sir! You can't be back here!" someone shouts, and Andy lets Theo fill the staff in on the redhead's injuries. He helps Jody the Greenman and Kiba the Broken out of the ambulance, and Neji freakin' Hyuuga is stalking towards them. Without so much as an ounce of concern for the men with guns giving chase, Neji steps over to Kiba and puts an arm around the man's waist. Together, Neji and Jody hold Kiba up and follow Gaara and the team into the hospital.

Andy shuts the doors, and a moment later a black Escalade rounds the corner, tires screeching to a halt near the Hyuuga's car, and the man Andy recognizes as Neji's boyfriend, Shikamaru, who is still speaking calmly to security, smacks his forehead.

"Where is he?" a well-built blond man shouts. He launches himself out of the driver's side, not even bothering to shut the SUV's door. Andy gapes at Naruto Uzumaki, the CEO of the chain of superstores that Andy’s mother hates. Naruto is wearing a short-sleeve ratty shirt and black dress slacks, and he has to be numb with cold. It’s raining harder, now, and water drips off the end of Andy’s nose.

The driver door slams a second later when Naruto reaches Shikamaru and a brunet slides out of the Escalade's passenger door. The slim man could be none other than Sasuke Uchiha, and Andy starts to wonder just who in the hell Gaara Sabuku _is_ to have such friends.

"They took him that way," directs Shikamaru, beleaguered, and the two men nearly run over Andy in their haste. Andy doesn't say a word, but his stomach drops when he sees a white van with the call letters of a local news station pull to a stop just beyond the fence encircling the back lot.

"Mr. Nara!" Andy yells without thinking, but Shikamaru's already running towards him. Security and the cops get distracted by the news van, and Shikamaru pauses long enough to squeeze Andy's shoulder before disappearing into the building.

Andy follows suit a second later, knowing paperwork awaits him, but he stops just inside and beneath a speaker playing something classical. He doesn't know what the piece is, but he likes its sad and tender melodies.

It's the perfect soundtrack for the staff surrounding Gaara, working to save the obviously well-loved man's life. Perfect for the sight of Kiba, clothed in cotton pants and Jody's shirt, standing in the middle of the hallway. Dry sobs wrack his frame, but Naruto just hugs him tighter, openly kissing him even though Kiba doesn't seem to notice, and from somewhere, towering Jody produces a blanket and drapes it and heavy arms around both men.

Nearby, Neji and Shikamaru shuck their coats and Shikamaru pulls Neji into a side-held embrace, and when the chief of police walks by Andy, he stalks directly to Neji, who nods but says nothing.

Sasuke stands by himself until Shikamaru grabs him closer, and there are tears in the Sasuke's eyes as he glances at Andy over the Nara’s shoulder. The music reaches crescendo, the people sing-chanting in the midst of the mix seeming to wail with the unspoken grief hanging in the air, and Andy knows it’s time to leave.

The hopeful paramedic weaves around the men, turns and goes, and the music is drowned by the medical code floating up from around Gaara's bedside. In a white coat over pink scrubs, Sakura bursts through the doors leading into the hospital and marches over to a nurse holding a chart. She sees the line up in the hallway on the other side of the curtain around Gaara's bed, and she grabs an intern.

“Get them to the private waiting room closest to the OR,” Sakura says to the blonde girl.

“Right away, doctor.”

Sakura sends the girl over to deliver the orders, mouth in a thin line of concentration. The hospital is buzzing with rumors, the media are voracious vultures, and Sakura knows Neji and the rest will soundly not give a shit until she can give definitive word on their friend.

"Let's get him to imaging!" Sakura barks, and she hits the round disk button on the wall. Slowly the fire doors open, the gurney scurries past with the sound of sneakers on wet laminate, and Sakura winces at the sight of Gaara and at the information in front of her. It isn't good.

But she's seen worse who lived, and determination hardens her heart.

Stepping to catch up with the patient's team, Sakura turns at the last second. The doors are closing on their silent mechanism, but Sakura wants to wave at Neji or Naruto or somebody, give them a little hope before she may have to return later to crush it. The men all huddle in the center of the empty receiving room, nodding at the intern who's gesturing for them to follow. No one looks in Sakura's direction, and she sighs, sympathetic despite her detached calm.

Sakura starts to go and stops when she feels a cool wind breeze by her. It ruffles her hair, makes goosebumps rise on her arms, and for a bare instant, she--

_“Understand. I finally understand…”_

\-- knows that Gaara's going to fight. She realizes with intensely stunning clarity that death and fate are twinned disembodied invisible bitches standing just on the other side of the fire doors, and they are hot on Gaara's heels. She is a barricade, a last warrior defense, and she spreads her feet wider; squares her shoulders.

"No," Sakura says before she can help it, before she can be rational or logical. Sakura glares at the narrowing space between the two doors, willing it to shut faster and shivering in the cold.

"There will be no more for you from him," Sakura intones, and she snaps shut the file with finality. "Not on my watch."

There's a sound like a distant scream that Sakura is sure she imagines, and the doors click closed. Sakura makes her way down the hallway, one half of her oddly chilly and the other strangely warm.

Gaara's family settle in a room of uncomfortable couches and chairs to wait, hopeful and weary and anxious souls there in support of one small and courageous and wounded man. Everyone encircles Jody and Kiba, they hold hands, and Jody finishes another litany with his own plea:

"…and God to us please give the Strength and the Courage and the Wisdom. Give us an ounce of what you gave to Gaara when you made him, God, and it'll be more than enough to get us through this day."

Kiba bends over, curling in on himself, and Neji's there with a soft sound and freely-given comfort.

"Be with my boss, our friend, Kiba's boyfriend, and hold him when we cannot."

"Lord hear our plea," says Kakashi from the doorway, and Shikamaru and Sasuke give the bartender a stunned look.

Kisuke steps into the room after Kakashi, head bowed and hands clasped, and Sasuke inches closer to Naruto, kissing his husband's hair.

"Love him while we can't reach him. Let him know we're here and let him feel us." Jody takes a watery breath, wipes his face with the back of his hand, and he draws Kiba closer, rocking again.

"And please, God, if it suits you, let him come back to us so we can tell him we love him in person. It'd be awful, awful nice."

"Please," Kiba whispers into Jody's shirt.

"Please," says Neji, and Shikamaru clutches his hand.

"Yeah," Naruto says, sniffing. "Please, God. Be a nice guy for once."

Jody's chuckle is affectionate. "And so we pray for Your Grace and in Your Name, Amen."

In the waiting room, the men hold their collective, figurative breath.

In the sink in a prep room, Sakura scrubs her hands.

In the operating room, Gaara lays on a table with his arms outstretched to either side.

Outside the rain starts to slack, leaving the city underneath glistening in a shimmer of frost. The dying’s last gasps release souls to their next destination, the living struggle to find meaning and to make order, and finally Fate unhooks her claws and takes her leave as the night begins to lighten toward the dawn.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∞ Much like Chapter Five, this one has a name. Souls… at Night. Hang in there. We're not done, yet.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is two-fold: [Set Fire to the Rain - Adele](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93dCIYaB4Os) and [Mozart, Requiem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=neDnpgZPPvY). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> But I set fire to the rain  
> Watched it pour as I touched your face  
> Well, it burned while I cried  
> 'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name 
> 
> When I lay with you  
> I could stay there  
> Close my eyes  
> Feel you here forever  
> You and me together  
> Nothing is better
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love & Words for the Fallen,  
> ♥Dee


	24. Chapter 24

At first, it was all flashes of white pain, and he retreated. Turned and walked down a long stone hallway that ended in a beach. Sun high and hot but strangely kind. Palm trees that he’d never seen. A breeze he’d never felt. An ocean so blue as to be impossible. Sand like soft magic between his toes. Music played – classical, soothing – and he was suddenly sitting in a chair with a glass of cranberry juice on ice.

"Pretty, huh?"

He turned and got blinded. He cried out that it was too bright, and he blinked. It was Jody. A shake of the head, and it was Naruto. A swallow and sigh, then Kiba.

_"I love you, baby."_

A half-sob and it was his father, his Uncle, his mother, reaching out a hand to touch and hold his--

"Stop that," he ordered.

The fingers withdrew. "Sorry."

And he wished he hadn’t said anything because now it was the boy he’d killed for the Saints when he wasn’t even old enough to understand masturbation, much less murder.

"It’s okay, you know," said the boy.

"How?" he asked. "How is anything 'okay'?"

The boy shrugged. "I don’t mind so much. I mean, look at this place. Don’t _you_ want to stay?"

He watched the waves. Thought about it. Felt the tug of a tether at his navel to Somewhere Else.

_"Can you hear--"_

"I hate the beach," he said. "Hate the ocean."

The boy laughed. "That’s ‘cause you only ever been to the bad ones! C’mon. They’ve got air hockey in the lodge. You can play _naked_."

The idea was amusing, and he chuckled, his fingers touching his lips to feel the smile. It felt good. Alive.

"And you’ve got people here." The boy pointed.

He looked left and saw Beast, tires in the surf and grill grinning in the sunlight. Farther down he saw fire, heard voices bright and cheerful and telling jokes, and he knew that was a party. He knew there was a cookout. He knew the food would be delicious enough to make him want to weep, and he knew the multitude of arms that could hold him there would be strong, loyal, loving… and forever.

_"Sweetheart--"_

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Everybody," the boy answered, as though it was obvious.

"I want to… go…" he said, unsure.

"Which way?" the boy asked.

"I… I don't… the sun. It's so bright."

"It is."

"But…" He looked back, saw the tunnel like a cave, maw open and waiting.

"You should probably forgive yourself here, first," said the boy between sips from a straw jutting out of a coconut.

"Forgive?"

"Sure," said the boy, and he swung brown legs off his lounge chair and planted them in the sand. Healthy, young, without pain.

He watched a hand reach, grip his arm. Real, solid, tangible freedom.

_"I’m right here."_

"This is where you get it," the boy said. "The place where you really do understand it all. Fit it together. Make it work. See how what you did affects things but also see what matters." The boy’s eyes were galaxies.

"But I killed--"

"Yes. You did."

"So, I don’t deserve--"

The boy grinned, big white molars and mirth. "To deserve is human, to exist, divine."

"What?" he asked.

"Are you sorry?"

It was hard, and his eyes burned, and everything was so miserable. He wanted to die, to crawl away from the boy's introspective expression, but oddly, the same thing that made him tremble in the study made him safe in the revelation. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Cool." The grin was back, and the smack to the side of his head was startling, jarring.

_"You just take your time, baby."_

"The hell?" he cried.

"It’s so much bigger," the boy said, laughing and laughing. "C'mon… Just think about it."

He did. The tide turned and the sky got darker though the sun didn’t go down. The boy was there, not there, but it was always a comfort. And when he got it, when the dawn came, he started to laugh and cry and shout all at the same time but without a single sound. The joy was infinite, the peace overwhelming. He was going to burst, and it was going to shatter universes with pure bliss.

"Pretty, huh?" said Everything.

Another tug to his middle and a flash of anger, irritation. "If I go, can I come back?"

No answer, but he knew. Just like he knew not to fear the beach growing distant, smaller. Knew that pain was coming but that was all right. Knew that he had to _remember_ what he learned, even though it’d only be a fraction of the whole. He had to--

"…hear me?"

It was dark, it was warm, it was weird to breathe.

"Oh my God."

The words were whispered, and Gaara tried to grunt when movement shifted him. His body was not pleased with him at all, though its complaints were muted beneath a fog.

"Hey."

A familiar face filled Gaara’s vision, eclipsed the world. In the murk, the jade flecks were darker, but Gaara recognized the tilt of the mouth beneath the scruff of beard. Kiba’s hair was messy and sticking straight up, and there was a bandage across his nose. Shadows carved gullies beneath his eyes, but the smile showed a pointy tooth and mobile lips. Fingertips traced Gaara’s face, so gentle, and Gaara channeled the energy to speak, move, do.

"Easy," Kiba said, still quiet. "I got ya baby." Tears poured down his cheeks, and he bent to kiss Gaara’s forehead. It was nice, and Gaara tried to raise the arm that didn’t ache.

Kiba turned, took Gaara’s hand, and slowly lifted it to kiss Gaara’s knuckles. Gaara forced some clarity and saw that Kiba knelt across Gaara, knees on the bed. He looked down, saw tubes and blankets and an ID bracelet and dull panic began to rise.

"Right here, sweetheart," Kiba said, and he drew so close their noses touched. "Yer in the hospital," he explained, calm and collected. "Ya can’t talk ‘cause there’s a tube down yer throat. Yer gonna be fine. Ya got a fancy suite, everybody’s here, and ain’t nobody gonna let anythin’ bad happen."

Gaara tried to swallow, it didn’t quite work, and Kiba put a palm on Gaara’s chest. "Just close yer eyes, baby. Yer safe."

Gaara obeyed, Kiba crooned in his ear. Words or sounds or both, it didn’t matter. Gaara relaxed by degrees, and the exhaustion calmly explained that Gaara was going to rest now whether he liked it or not. He argued with the sensation in the voice of a small boy, said he wanted to tell Kiba about the beach, but a friendly darkness chuckled like a mother to insolent child, stole over him, and swayed him to sleep.

~*~

Gaara woke up like Rip Van Winkle, after the slumber of a century. He rested on a soft pillow, facing a window overlooking the steam stacks of the next building and a stretch of parking lot full of vehicles shining in chilly winter sunlight. He was stiff and sore but not hurting, and when he tried to wiggle under the sheets and blankets, pliant weight stopped him. Gaara swiveled his head, looked down.

Kiba's arm lay sprawled over Gaara's thighs. He sat in a chair, bent at the waist to rest against the side of Gaara's leg. His mouth hung open, and a line of drool was forming a spreading pool. He wore a shirt that was too big, and Gaara got fascinated with how much auburn was in the several days' worth of beard.

Gaara concentrated, lifted one hand stuffed with tubing, and placed it on Kiba's shoulder. Squeezing, Gaara glanced at Jody, who lay hugging Gaara's shins. Jody faced away from Gaara, dirty blond hair in oily curls. His back rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and Gaara wondered how in the hell either man could sleep contorted as they were. Gaara flexed one leg and winced.

Bandages coated his right arm and side, and Gaara felt the tug of more on his left thigh. He started to complain, but a quiet, " _Oh_!" distracted him.

Across the room, Iruka shut a book and shook Kakashi, who rested in a chair against a counter covered in rose-themed floral arrangements. Metal scraped on flooring, and Gaara saw Neji put down a hand of cards and rise from a table near a window and a row of narrow cots. Curtain racks held swaths of fabric against the richly painted walls, and there was a free-standing utilitarian wardrobe next to a door cracked to show a small bathroom. Another door stood to Gaara's left, also open and carrying a sign that read, "For Patients Only." Gaara smelled coffee, saw a box of donuts on the counter next to paper plates and a spilled box of forks, and Gaara had to wonder if this was one room or six.

"Hey there," Kakashi said, quietly. He paused at the foot of Gaara's bed, nudged Jody's shoulder. Immediately Gaara's oldest friend sat up, snorting and jerking to look at Gaara. The smile that split Jody's face was beautiful.

"Boss," Jody said, raspy from sleep. "How you doin'?"

Gaara considered, opened his mouth to speak, and coughed. Jody made a pained sound, started to get up, but Kakashi pushed Jody back into the seat. Kakashi swept to Gaara's bedside, retrieved a plastic cup off a tray meant to span Gaara's bed, and filled it with ice chips from a thermos.

"Here," Kakashi said, and Gaara opened his mouth to let Kakashi feed him freezing water that tasted like liquid heaven and felt even better as it melted. Gaara moaned, and Kakashi chuckled. "Good, huh?"

Gaara nodded and crunched the next few pieces. When he could swallow without razorblades, he groaned, and Kiba stirred with a slurp. Kiba flew upright, wiping at a damp chin with a dry sleeve.

"Gaara?" Kiba asked, gripping Gaara's hand with both of his.

"He's fine, Kiba," Kakashi soothed, and Gaara nodded with an impatient gesture for more ice. Kiba laughed.

"I'll go tell the nurse," Iruka said. "See if he can have some juice."

"Thanks," Kakashi said, handing the cup to Kiba, who took over feeding duty. In between chips, Kiba bent to kiss Gaara's cheeks, mouth, chin.

"Cut it out," Gaara said, voice scratchy.

"Nah," Kiba answered, stuffing Gaara with two pieces and sealing the offering with a longer press of lips.

"Jesus," Kakashi muttered. "No wonder you made a Will."

"I'm fuckin' crazy, but I ain't stupid," Kiba replied without taking his affectionate gaze off Gaara.

"What?" Gaara asked, confused.

"Before he decided to pursue you," Neji answered from the foot of the bed. Gaara noticed that Neji was the only man in the room who appeared showered, shaved, clean, and unaffected by the surroundings. "Asked me for the name of a good lawyer."

"You did?" Gaara said to Kiba, whose grin was equal parts chagrin and pride.

"Tol' ya," Kiba said. "Asked 'round 'bout you when I realized ya were the only one in my head, an' no 'mount of fuckin' could change my mind."

"Though he did try," Neji interjected.

"Shut it, Nej," Kiba said, friendly. He brushed back Gaara's hair. "Gonna tango with death, ya gotta be prepared, baby. You know that better 'n most here."

"Oh, I don't know," Neji mused, eying Jody, Kakashi, and then Gaara in turn.

"Like that you're here," Gaara said to Kiba, resting against the pillows and closing his eyes briefly. "All of you."

"Who are you and what you done with boss?" Jody asked, but he stroked Gaara's leg.

"Forgave him. Left him on the shore." Gaara ignored the slow blinks, not bothering to explain. "How long?" he asked Neji.

"You've been here for eight days," Neji answered without missing a beat. "You were shot twice, once in the shoulder and once in the side. The second bullet didn't exit, collapsed your lung. The first tore a major artery, and they harvested one from your leg to repair it. Kakashi donated blood on-scene, and you were given more during surgery to make up for the loss."

"Good news is, the one you took in the shoulder did arterial damage but you should regain full use of the arm with some therapy," Kakashi said.

"You been asleep a while, boss," Jody added. "But they kept tellin' us that was good for you. Helped you heal faster, and though we was worried 'bout the coma thing, Doctor Sakura kept sayin' you should wake up sooner or later." He smiled. "She's real nice. Been here and carin' more than most docs I've known."

"The Dogs?" Gaara asked, sucking on more ice chips. Iruka returned with a cup and straw, handed it to Kakashi, and put an arm around the bartender's waist.

Neji straightened his shoulders. "I rather not inundate you when you've just regained--"

"Tell me."

"He's definitely recovering," Neji said with an imperial arch of perfect eyebrow.

"I love 'im demandin’," Kiba said, and Gaara found Kiba's hand to hold. Kiba stared at their fingers like he was unacquainted with how those body parts worked.

"How excellent for you," Neji droned and continued, businesslike. "To simplify, all of your attackers are deceased, and their known cohorts have fled the city or have met with rather harsh endings."

Kakashi chuckled, swapping ice for juice with Kiba. "I do love how that tea-lovin' blondie works."

"Indeed," Neji agreed. "Ibiki and my personal counsel have handled the aftermath. You'll need to make an official statement for the police, but I'll make sure Ibiki handles that personally. I'll do my best to see that you don't see any time in court for any reason. After my meeting with the DA, I don't think that will be a problem."

"Good t'be the king," Kiba quipped, watching Gaara drink juice with avid interest. It tasted so good Gaara thought he would cry, but he refrained.

"My house?" Gaara asked between gulps.

"It's been cleared as a crime scene, and it will be fumigated and entirely livable upon your release from the hospital. I'll see to it."

"This room?"

Neji smiled. "You're one of my employees, Gaara. It's only natural that you have the very best medical care this city can provide. At no charge to you, of course."

Gaara licked his lips and stared at Neji for a long few seconds. There was something about the way the Hyuuga stood, a tenseness to the jaw. "What happened and why do you feel guilty?"

Neji flinched, Kiba and Jody shifted, and Kakashi sighed at the ceiling. "This is what you get for surrounding yourself with perceptive geniuses," Kakashi said to Neji.

"Evidently," Neji sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. "My people were monitoring the influx of foreign gang activity. The night you were attacked, there was to be a hit on the rental house the Dogs were using as home base."

"Kisuke and I were on it," Kakashi interrupted, glancing at Neji until Neji waved a hand for him to continue. "We were following the leader and several cronies, intending to have them arrested upon first sign of the threat of violence."

"But there was more than one car," Jody said, stealing the story. "Group of 'em had already gotten to your house, boss, and killed radio and cell signals. Didn't do nothin' to the beacon we set up on the alarm, though, thank God. But while I'm grabbin' pants and ammo, these two fucknuts," he gestured to Kakashi, "realize they're outgunned and outmaneuvered and climb to get high ground and open fire."

"Kisuke keeps quite the arsenal in his Expedition," Kakashi mused. "Handy, that."

"Fords," Jody said with a snarl. "Damn fool--"

"Anyway," Neji said. "By the time a distress call got out, you were shot, the Dogs were dead, and--"

"The same two fucknuts saved your life, boss," Jody said, respectful. "Figure I owe 'em free oil changes for life."

" _And_ the paint job we talked about for the Jag," Kakashi said.

"Sure thing, Mr. Hatake," Jody agreed with a slow smile.

"Heaven forbid you miss an opportunity," Iruka said under his breath, and Kakashi kissed him until Iruka admitted defeat.

"It's been somewhat of a press debacle," Neji said. "But manageable with certain points of assistance."

"Oh," Gaara said, digesting the information while his IV dripped. He listened to an invisible ocean and petted Kiba's wrist. "Neji."

"Yes?"

"I need a favor."

"They are my business, favors."

Gaara tried on a smile, and it fit for once. "Can you get a moving crew to Kiba's to transport his things to my home before my release?"

Neji's eyebrows met his hairline. "I can, yes."

"Hang on!" Kiba protested. "Don't I get a say?"

Gaara organized his rationale. "Where do you live?" he asked Kiba.

"Got a place on the West side."

"Apartment?"

"Condo."

"Smaller than my home?"

"Well, yeah, but--"

"Do you want to live with me?"

Kiba started to blush, lips twisting into a smirk, a smile, and something in between. "Well, yeah, baby, it'd be--"

"Then what's the problem?"

"Good to have you back, Gaara," Kakashi said while Kiba stuttered, and the bartender kissed Gaara's temple. It was kind of nice, and Gaara turned his newly discovered expression of contentment upon the other man.

"Think we're all better for it," Kakashi whispered.

"I'll see that it's done," Neji said. "Keep you informed, Kiba."

"Gee, thanks," Kiba said, but the sarcasm was weak.

"Thank you," Gaara said, tugging at Kiba until he finally took the hint and drew close enough to taste.

"Why don't we give them some room?" Iruka asked.

"Sounds right good to me," Jody said, getting up. He stretched, and headed for the door, nearly knocking over a volunteer coming into the room with a vase of flowers. "Shit, 'scuse me."

"Sorry," said the girl. "Another delivery. Should I put them with the others?"

"Who?" Gaara asked.

"Uh," the girl said, uncertain.

"He means who they from," Jody said helpfully, fishing out the card. "Oh. It's the Uchiha guy again."

"Sasuke?" Gaara asked, horrified and confused.

"Nah," Kiba replied. "The bigger one. 'pparently, Haku and Kimimaro heard what happened from Prissy Bitch, and put up a fuss. They're travelin' somewhere, but keep sendin' the roses every day."

"Oh," Gaara said. The girl set down the vase of two dozen stems and backed out of the room quickly. Gaara stared at a pink and white blossom while Jody, Iruka, Kakashi, and Neji filed out after her, and the fluttering in his chest wasn't terrifying or worrisome or confusing.

It was sweet, pleasant… even _right_.

"Kiba?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"When I'm better, can we go to the beach?"

When Kiba didn't answer right away, Gaara tore his gaze from tokens of affection to the man who embodied sanctuary, sanity, and salvation. Tears quietly rolled down Kiba's face, unchecked, and Gaara caught them with his fingertips, sipping the offering like a penitent man to the universe’s cup of understanding.

"Yeah," Kiba croaked, and laughed. "We can go anywhere ya want. Hell, we can go to every fuckin' beach in every fuckin' country we can find."

Gaara worked his smile into a real grin, and the soaring in his heart made it seem like Gaara was dancing with the jade soul standing watch over his bed of awakening recovery. "I'd like that."

"Me, too, sweetheart. Oh God, me, too."

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgiven, forgave, never forgot...
> 
> I have seen this beach. I have watched tea being sipped in meadows. I have perceived the gates between worlds.
> 
> Friends, loves, travelers, souls all… There is nothing to fear beyond this life. We are to live it fully and deeply. And we - each and every one of us - is loved.
> 
> There is one more chapter in this tale.
> 
> ∞ Your official Chapter Song is [Amazing - Aerosmith](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCN9eij6zJE). All the chapters have songs, and the playlist helped make the story happen. Thanks, Az.
> 
> I kept the right ones out  
> And let the wrong ones in  
> Had an angel of mercy to see me through all my sins  
> There were times in my life  
> When I was goin' insane  
> Tryin' to walk through  
> The pain  
> When I lost my grip  
> And I hit the floor  
> Yeah,I thought I could leave but couldn't get out the door  
> I was so sick and tired  
> Of livin' a lie  
> I was wishin that I  
> Would die 
> 
> It's Amazing  
> With the blink of an eye you finally see the light  
> It's Amazing  
> When the moment arrives that you know you'll be alright  
> It's Amazing  
> And I'm sayin' a prayer for the desperate hearts tonight 
> 
> That one last shot's a Permanent Vacation  
> And how high can you fly with broken wings?  
> Life's a journey not a destination  
> And I just can't tell just what tomorrow brings 
> 
> You have to learn to crawl  
> Before you learn to walk  
> But I just couldn't listen to all that righteous talk, oh yeah  
> I was out on the street,  
> Just tryin' to survive  
> Scratchin' to stay  
> Alive  
> Desperate hearts, desperate hearts.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much love, the arms of your loved ones, and a slice of eternal bliss.  
> ♥Dee


	25. Chapter 25

Gaara stared at his reflection in the sliding glass door that led onto one of the many decks of the beach house. Bare feet in the rich carpeting, shaggy hair standing up, all the color of Gaara's form leeched by the dull surface and the light of the full moon shining into the bedroom.

He looked… different.

His nude body was slimmer than it was before the Dogs attacked, muscle mass lost from recovery, but Gaara was getting stronger despite the jutting hipbones and lines of ribs. The wound on his thigh from the vein havesting was an angry welt against Gaara's pale skin, but it was a straight, true cut. It'd make a good scar. The bullet wound in his shoulder was a messy mound of reforming tissue, shiny and pink. The other one in his side was smaller, cleaner, almost polite. His right arm complained when he raised it too high, but the rehabilitation people told him that was normal, even good. Gaara could make a fist, hold a pen, write his name, and wasn't bothered by what the rehab guy called, "Intense mobility therapy." Sure, it hurt, but Gaara just smiled through the pain.

It felt so damned good to be alive.

Tilting his head just to watch his twin mimic the movement, Gaara reached and unlatched the door. He slid it back on silent runners and was immediately inundated with the dull roar of the waters in the Sound. Chilly, winter air blasted his skin, but it was far, far kinder than the January winds Gaara was used to up north. The breeze was full of salt spray and the crunch of seashells against dunes. They were on a small island on the southern end of a long chain of islands, in what Jody was calling, "The sweet, sweet homeland." It'd been eight weeks since the shooting, and the journey south had been an interesting one.

The speed of Gaara's healing surprised everyone but Gaara, himself. He kept telling interested parties that he would be fine, that no, he didn't need another day in bed and that if they made him then yes, he would start shooting people again, but an entire herd of humanity turned up to monitor and give input to Gaara's progress. The kids from the shop, Naruto, Sasuke, Kakashi, Iruka, Shikamaru, Kisuke, Ibiki, and God only knew who else swung through the ever-revolving door of Gaara's place once he'd settled into his own home again. Neji was true to form and got Gaara's house ready for the day Gaara was released from the hospital, and not only were Kiba's things moved in, some of them were even unpacked and integrated into Gaara's.

One of those possessions turned out to be a pony masquerading as a dog who answered to the name, Akamaru. The dog was a Great Pyrenees, was extremely affectionate, and, Gaara was grateful to discover, smart. Akamaru and Cat met, sized one another up, and shockingly, got along great. Cat used Akamaru as a pillow and a scratching post, and Akamaru endured the treatment with a loll of tongue and a doggy chuckle.

Gaara settled into life with Kiba without incident, and it was made easier, if somewhat aggravating, by Kiba's doting attention. Kiba's unbridled zest was irritatingly infectious. He brought Gaara tea, food, snacks, and peppered Gaara with kisses despite Gaara's vociferous complaints. Kiba changed bandages, helped Gaara to the shower and the bathroom, and did it all like he'd been waiting a lifetime for the chance.

It proved impossible to remain irked by Kiba's affections, however, when night time fell and Kiba crawled into bed with Gaara. Held him, cradled him, spoke words in the shadows that Gaara would never dare repeat in daylight but that sank into his heart to take up permanent residence. Once Gaara was healed enough to seek physical release, Kiba would curl behind him, hold his wrists in a gentle clutch, sink teeth into yielding skin, and stroke Gaara until the pleasure spilled forth like some unrelenting tide released from its dammed walls.

When Gaara gained more strength, Kiba's mouth joined the midnight tour, and Kiba drank Gaara dry with undisguised lust. Slowly, slowly Kiba reintroduced their bodies to one another, adding fingers and tongue, requesting returned favors, and eventually claiming every piece of Gaara like a benevolent, conquering general reacquiring lost lands. Now, looking back on the progression, Gaara had to wonder if his speedy healing had more to do with Kiba's reward system and less to do with excellent medical care. For surely the first fed his soul as well or better as the second fed his corporal form.

Gaara wasn't the only one to benefit from the in-home treatment. Sakura, Gaara's surgeon and, as fateful connections would have it, Naruto and Neji's friend, came to see Gaara, herself. Gaara was certain that it was meant to be a one-time thing, but Jody's effusive gratitude convinced Sakura that coming back for dinner was only logical. One dinner turned into two, turned into movies, and finally morphed into Jody floating around like some idiot teenager, whistling through a swacked, well-fucked-man grin. Kiba teased Jody mercilessly, the two of them fast friends post the battle royale, and Gaara didn't begrudge his protector an inch of content. In fact, seeing Jody so happy allayed some piece of Gaara that he didn't even realize needed to be put to rest. Gaara had a lot of time lying on beds, couches, and while taking slow walks to contemplate sources of peace. He was quickly discovering that the joy of those whom he loved was often as great or greater than any he felt himself.

Two weeks of home and harmony later, and Gaara finally told Kiba about the beach, the boy, and the forgiveness. Words didn't do the experience justice, but Kiba wept all the same. Gaara understood the tears, gave some of his own in offering, and when Kiba asked if Gaara had meant the bit about going to see the ocean, Gaara had nodded. Kiba asked him where he wanted to go, and, in a sudden fit of impulsivity, Gaara charged Kiba with the task of planning their trip. Kiba took to the chore with giddy enthusiasm, and through a peaceful Christmas and uneventful New Year's spent with only their closest friends, Kiba plotted.

The same day that Jody finished piecing Kiba's Charger back together, Kiba showed up in the driveway steering an RV that was the size of some people's homes.

"Is that ours?" Gaara had asked.

"Nah, rental," Kiba replied, patting the thing's side.

"Ridiculous. We'll buy it."

Kiba had sputtered, and after Gaara calmly explained his financial situation, Kiba had sat in their kitchen looking strangely pale. Worried that money would become some sort of issue between them, Gaara told Kiba that he had no problem sharing his assets with the man who already shared everything else. Kiba laughed, kissed Gaara, and made some comment about rings being next that Gaara didn't quite follow.

"So, you don't mind that I added your name to my bank accounts?"

"Oh… I guess not, sweetheart. Whatever ya need t'do, just do."

That settled, time passed in a friendly manner while paperwork got sorted and arrangements were made. Gaara went to physical therapy, got instructions and made plans to see various clinics at points along their route. Sakura checked him over and gave Gaara the green light for travel. Kiba sent out a blanket invitation to anyone and everyone in their circle who wanted to join them on their beach adventure, and Kiba even let Gaara do his own packing. A miracle, that, as Kiba still fussed and forced Gaara to rest at the most inconvenient intervals.

Naruto and Sasuke came along with Gaara, Kiba, Cat, and Akamaru on the first leg of the journey. Gaara's interaction with Sasuke was apparently the source of much amusement, and Gaara still didn't understand why finding Sasuke tied up in the RV bathroom was such a source of hilarity. Nor did he know why the fact that he went about his business in said bathroom was problematic. He did, at least, get that Sasuke's sarcasm and petulance rolled off Gaara's literal self like water on sealed concrete, and Naruto spent most of their time together howling over Sasuke's indignant mutterings.

After Naruto and Sasuke flew home, Gaara and Kiba stopped at a major port of call and spent some time with Itachi, Kimimaro, and Haku. The three men were touring the world's oceans and had a cruise ship condo on what amounted to a floating city. And while Gaara grew tired of Kimimaro's need to hug him, he definitely enjoyed playing cards and Othello with Haku. Kiba barely had patience for Go Fish, and Haku was devilishly excellent at strategy.

Gaara spent most of the travel time on the road between destinations curled up in the passenger seat in the RV, dozing while Kiba drove. On the nights not spent in hotels, he and Kiba shared the bed in the rather spacious rear bedroom. Never in his life had Gaara rested as well as he did now, and it was like he had to catch up on years and years of lost sleep. If he ever woke in the wee hours before dawn, Kiba would make love to him until slumber was once again the only option, and Gaara would doze off with Kiba crooning his version of a lullaby in Gaara's ear.

Neji checked in and reassured Gaara that there was still no other DJ he would rather have in the clubs. They were making due with Gaara's bot program until Gaara returned. The Fetish Ball was canceled and rescheduled for Valentine's Day, and Neji told Gaara not to worry about anything but healing. Kiba did podcasts on the road, and his radio show mixed those in with older recordings. Listenership had actually gone up ever since Kiba made some live air announcement about his relationship with a man Kiba called, "Red." WKDS was thrilled, and Gaara found empowerment in Kiba's success.

Jody managed the shop until Gaara and Kiba got far enough south, and then Jody left Akasuna Auto in Sora's hands and flew down to join them at the beach house. Kiba had picked it out, and the thing was a sprawling manor full of every conceivable luxury. Jody and Kiba made use of and nearly destroyed some of the appliances, the espresso machine would never be the same, and Gaara lounged on a chaise while the men made a game of running from the heated pool to the sauna to the ocean.

And when Sakura arrived, she didn't stop the games, she made new ones. The woman could drink Kiba under the table, and Gaara got his first chance to tuck Kiba into bed after slipping the man aspirin and water.

Many minutes of most days, Gaara had to remind himself that this was real. Nothing was scary or overwhelming or impossible anymore. In the aftermath of near death, everything seemed simple. Sometimes he wondered if he _had_ died, if this was some sort of heaven, but he dismissed the thought when his shoulder ached, when his stomach growled, when his ass was tender from Kiba's constant attention. He had yet another chance, and he was reminded of the time he spent planning after his father died. Gaara started keeping a journal, made a bucket list, and during the frightening minutes when the fear that everything would vanish plagued him, he found Kiba and kissed him. Found Cat and listened to the animal purr. Found Jody and asked the man to talk about engines.

He didn't take pills. He didn't overload on misunderstanding or anything from his past. He didn't worry that he'd failed all his online classes. He looked at new ones. He let his accountant take care of the books. He listened to music and made new sets. He worked to keep his peace, regain his health, and strengthen his body.

He lived.

But sometimes he disentangled himself from Kiba's warmth and wandered around in the comfort of darkness, watchful, waiting. Old habits that didn't seem harmful when Gaara knew he could always return to bed. Time and sleep were friends these days, not arch enemies, and Gaara was even growing accustomed to the ceasefire.

The wind blew to shriek through wooden slats and alcoves, and Gaara shivered in the open doorway. A flicker caught his eye. There was a fire on the beach and two heads hovering above a square shape that Gaara identified as a blanket. Jody and Sakura, enjoying the moonlight. Gaara dropped his gaze, stepped to the right so he couldn't see them anymore, gave them the respect of privacy. Such niceties were new, but for Jody and Kiba, Gaara could learn.

A rustle of bedsheet and a soft grunt warned Gaara that his solitude was over, and instead of annoyance, he felt a burble of anticipation. He closed his eyes, cock stirring when heated skin pressed against him from shoulder to ass to leg. Strong arms encircled him, one perfect hand lying flat on Gaara's chest over his heart. A squeeze, a sigh, a kiss to Gaara's hair, and Kiba sent fingertips over Gaara's hipbone and into the curls above his cock, petting with a possessive familiarity.

Gaara's asshole clenched, its sensitivity insanely increased from persistent use. When they first arrived at the beach house, before Jody joined them, they'd made a game of fucking in every room but the ones that were to become Jody's suite. Kiba took Gaara over the dining room table, blew him on the living room couch. Kiba tied him immobile in the den with soft, cotton rope and forced a weeping cock down Gaara's throat. They conducted experiments amidst their games, discovered that if Gaara was gagged, blindfolded, clamped and ringed, he could survive hours of pleasure and could pass out with orgasm.

Kiba's patience knew no boundaries, and his thirst for Gaara wasn't confined to any role. Down or up, left or right, Kiba meant it when he said he liked sex any way it could be had. When they found the room with bunks and children's toys, Gaara tied Kiba flat on the top bed. Gaara made a study of the items nearby that Kiba's ass could take before finally filling him with Gaara's dick. Gaara discovered that Kiba's bellows when being screwed into the nearest available surface were second only in torridity to his grunts of exertion while getting Gaara off.

"I see yer up," Kiba murmured in Gaara's ear, the memories, the voice, and the tugs to Gaara's pubic hair making Gaara's cock swell.

"Mmhm," Gaara answered.

"Somethin' wake you, or did ya just want to freeze yer nuts off fer a while?"

Gaara rasped a lazy laugh, head back on Kiba's shoulder while Kiba toyed with one nipple, flicked the chilled, hardened nub until Gaara clasped Kiba's bare hip. "Had a dream," he said.

"Good or bad?" Kiba asked.

"Not sure," Gaara replied, opening his eyes to stare at the moon. Clouds rolled across the starry landscape, gossamer ghosts.

"Don't think I ever heard ya talk 'a dreams." Kiba's lips brushed Gaara's neck in the light, pinpoint kisses that drove Gaara mad.

"Don't have them," Gaara whispered, turning his head into Kiba's throat to answer Kiba's mouth with nips of his own. "Kiba? Stroke me."

"Tell me 'bout the dream, and maybe I will," Kiba replied, nails scraping Gaara's belly, digging at his navel.

Gaara shuddered. Waves crashed on the mostly empty beach, and Gaara let Kiba take more of his weight, leaning into the taller man. "I was in Leon's basement, sitting on an old couch next to Jody."

"Leon?" Kiba questioned. "Ya mean the head Saint guy?"

"Yes," Gaara confirmed. "Spent too much time in that room. Was exactly the same." Gaara formed fists, recalling the rasp of worn fabric, the way Jody looked at sixteen, ballcap on sideways. "I had on headphones, like the first ones I ever used to spin, and we were playing cards."

"You and Jody?"

Gaara nodded, squeezed Kiba's ass, and brought them impossibly closer. Kiba's breathing hitched against Gaara's face, stubble rough on his cheek. "And others. Sicko and Paint were there, too. And…"

_"Sacred man…"_

"Yeah?" Kiba prompted.

"They were wearing these sheets. And wires strapped to their backs and in circles over their heads."

"Like angel costumes?"

_"Four and twenty blackbirds…"_

"Yeah. Angels," Gaara said, hushed and pushing his face to the space beneath Kiba's chin. Goosebumps broke out over Gaara's skin, and he inhaled the other man's essence, scent, very self. Kiba palmed Gaara's balls, and Gaara relaxed. "My father was there, too, in a suit, and Vince. Wearing devil horns with the tags from the Dollar Store still on them."

"Awesome," Kiba said with a throaty laugh. "What else?"

"We were playing poker, and Paint and Sicko were already out. I raised Father three petals--"

"Petals?"

"Oh." Gaara licked his lips. "We were playing with our Saints' Medallions and rose petals. The fake kind."

"Right," Kiba said after a minute. He nudged Gaara's head to one side, bent to kiss Gaara's temple. "I get ya, baby. Go on."

Twisting, Gaara met Kiba for a closed-mouth caress. He switched his grip from hip to Kiba's cock, tugging at the skin and letting himself get lost in the way Kiba's breathing changed, the way Kiba pulled Gaara's nuts, the way they fit together. "I called and won. Cleaned Father and Vince out."

"Uh huh…" Kiba said on a quick sigh, and he teased Gaara's dick, just beneath the crown.

"And your voice was in my headset." Gaara sucked Kiba's tongue, pushed Kiba's cock down until it was trapped between Gaara's thighs, against his sac.

"What'd I say?" Kiba asked, breaking away to bite Gaara's ear. He scraped teeth and stroked Gaara base to tip.

Gaara groaned, didn't answer for several seconds, and Kiba stopped until Gaara began to speak. "Said… _nnnh_ …Said if I didn't get my ass outside, you were going to drive Beast." He got his arms back and around Kiba, dipped fingertips between the Inuzuka's cheeks and nudged Kiba's entrance without penetration.

" _Mmph_ …" Kiba swiveled his hips, hissed and clutched at Gaara. "That the end?"

Gaara shook his head, let Kiba's tongue tangle with his in a lingering exploration of soft pallet and muscle. "Jody and I got up, said good-bye--"

_"Later guys. Got to go scrub Boss's back. Get 'im clean."_

"--and Paint waved--"

_"See ya, little dude."_

"--and Sicko sounded almost normal--"

_"Meet you later. Both of ya."_

_"Sure, Sicko. Sure."_

"--and then we walked out the door into this bright light." Gaara swallowed. "And I woke up."

"Thank God," Kiba growled, turning Gaara in his arms. Hands grabbed and roamed, lips, mouths, teeth went everywhere, and Gaara dove into Kiba's taste, feel, sound. Kiba sucked Gaara's nipple until it hurt, stung with Kiba's incisors, and Gaara flailed to seize the doorway for balance when Kiba dropped to one knee.

"Oooh…" Gaara panted, broken, as Kiba lapped at his slit and sucked Gaara's cock with sloppy noises of greed. Gaara curled inward, watching and unresisting while Kiba's hands dictated the pattern of Gaara's thrusts into Kiba's throat. " _Mmph… nngh_ \--Kiba… no… want to…" Gaara trailed off, panting as sensation spiked, Kiba drove him closer to an edge he desperately wanted to find, and Gaara's single note of complaint was loud in the room when Kiba relinquished the seal of lips and the slide of tongue.

Kiba stood, the grip in Gaara's hair wonderfully painful, the pinch to his nipple perfect. "Yeah, I know what ya want," Kiba said, forcing Gaara's head back and biting along Gaara's jaw. "Bed. On your knees, _baby_." Kiba molded the term of endearment into invective, and Gaara barely registered the stumbling walk across the room.

A long, wide trunk stood at the foot of the king bed, and Gaara crawled onto it. He started to climb onto the mattress, but Kiba's hands stopped him. A heartbeat later, and Kiba wrenched Gaara's cheeks apart and started licking, suckling, nipping at Gaara's hole. Gaara shook with the effort to stifle the urge to demand more, buried his face in the rumpled comforter, and cried to heaven and angels, hell and demons. Damp heat, Kiba's muffled, continual moans, the slick-slip of tongue to Gaara's insides setting nerves alight, and Gaara shoved a hand between his legs to stroke himself, pre-cum smoothing the glide.

A smack to Gaara's backside cracked too loudly in the hazy halls of Gaara's mind. "Did I tell you to jerk off?" Kiba asked in a ferocious whisper.

Gaara tipped his chin to speak in a thready voice. "No," he replied, elongating the vowel when Kiba struck him again.

"Ya wanna come like this?" Another murmur, one more smack, and Gaara jerked. "Me eatin' yer red ass raw?"

Another hit, harder, and Gaara groaned through three more strikes before he could answer, "N-no…"

Kiba cupped Gaara's balls, rolled them while spanking Gaara in a quick burst of fiery pain that Gaara couldn't track or count. Gaara's flinch sent tingles of dangerous warning into his belly from his trapped nuts. "Ya want me to fuck ya, sweetheart?" Pull, squeeze, swat, and Gaara let go of his dick else he come. "That a 'yes'?" Kiba practically purred, palm inflaming the burn with a steady rhythm of impact. Gaara writhed, yanking sheets, nodding against the bed, and moaning an affirmative that he hoped Kiba would translate.

"Good, baby, good," Kiba rumbled, and he climbed past Gaara. Kiba spun and sat with his back to the headboard, legs spread, cock so hard it bounced against his stomach, and he held his arms out to Gaara. "C'mere and ride me."

Somehow Gaara scrambled to Kiba, who caught him and kissed him. A sweet, tender touch traced his spine, but when Gaara started to straddle Kiba, again the man stopped him.

"Other way," Kiba instructed over Gaara's flushed lips, and Kiba sucked the bottom one until it swelled. "Face yer moon and yer ocean."

Gaara knew whimpers spilled from him, poured into the room like weak requests for more and for less, and in gratitude. He resituated, halted while Kiba applied lube, and Gaara's mind whited out when Kiba entered him bare. Gaara loved the drag of flesh instead of latex, and he was moaning as Kiba drew him to Kiba's chest. Gaara was halfway to coming when Kiba started to move in short, shallow thrusts that were neither slow nor fast. And Gaara was lost by the time Kiba's hand gently closed over Gaara's throat, held with pressure that didn't suffocate, but certainly reminded.

"Fuckin' perfect, Gaara." Kiba's rough voice went straight to Gaara's center, dumped lighter fluid on the bonfire that drove him to raise and lower himself in counter rhythm to Kiba's. A sigh, a groan, and Gaara got his eyes open and focused enough to see ceiling, door, the silver shimmer of distant water. He rested on Kiba's shoulder, braced his skull, and reached up with his good arm to grapple the headboard for more leverage.

" _Oooh_." Gaara's breathless sob changed to a whine behind pressed lips, and he lost the control to move with Kiba's teeth in his neck and fist wrapped around his dick. Kiba pumped him furiously, the downward strokes shoving Gaara into the cradle of Kiba's pelvis to meet Kiba's drives with wet smacks, and the upward strokes twisting around the swollen cockhead.

" _Kiba_ …" Gaara's desperate gasp shook, tremulous with the effort of bodies and the culminating heat. "Gonna, oh… _nnnggh GOD!"_

"Yeah," Kiba snarled, triumphant in Gaara's quaking ending and snapping hips faster through Gaara's aftershocks. Gaara went taut as high tension wire and cried out in earnest.

"Little more for me, baby?" Kiba asked, cruel and loud, and Gaara stiffened with a belated final wave of orgasm.

" _Aaah_ , ya," Kiba breathed. "Sh-shit, Gaa--" Kiba cut off, wrapped his arms around Gaara and was silent in his own release, not even breathing, and Gaara covered one of Kiba's hands with a damp palm, holding it.

Kiba's exhausted exhale let them both sink to the bed in a loose mix of limbs and sweaty torsos. Gaara stayed still, listening to the ocean while their breathing slowed and synced, and Kiba softened within him. Existence was never so exquisite as when Kiba held Gaara close after they'd both gotten off, the connection almost tangible to Gaara's fingertips, almost a taste he could find by pressing tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"Ya a'right?" Kiba murmured, stirring and sighing against Gaara's hair. He covered one of Gaara's nearly-healed wounds, cupped it with care.

"Yeah," Gaara answered. "Tired."

"Here. Lemme…" Kiba slipped from Gaara, and Gaara sighed at the rush of liquid that followed. Kiba eased him down onto his side, tidied him up with something soft. A t-shirt, probably.

Drifting, Gaara let himself daydream and doze until Kiba spooned him, tucked them both in. "Did you--" Gaara began, sitting up to check the door.

"Left it open," Kiba answered, stroking Gaara's arm to encourage him to settle again. Kiba chuckled. "Thought you'd wanna listen to yer new favorite song."

"Cold?" Gaara whispered, eyelids falling shut.

"Never when yer here."

"Mm… Kiba?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Gaara smiled at the name. He'd grown to like it. "Love you."

Kiba shivered, uttered a tiny sound of pure, tired delight. "Love you, too. Now rest. I got ya."

Gaara entwined their fingers, already half in dreamland. He was driving his old, trusty Caddy along the water's edge with Kiba laughing beside him. The radio was playing, and the windows were down. The tide was turning, the sun bright in the sky, and its warmth filled every crevice, every shadow, every dark place of the earth and every human's heart.

"Got you, too," Gaara whispered.

And together, Kiba and Gaara slept.

~*~ 

 

The End.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and with that we leave our heroes to live, love, and grow. It's been a hell of a ride, and I thank everyone for taking it with me. Thank you for reading, commenting, messaging... for the music, the laughs, the recordings... the side stories, the support, the art...
> 
> Thank you for helping me see this one through.
> 
> For this story, in all sorts of ways...
> 
> Was mine.
> 
> Your rolling credits song is [Holy Water by Big & Rich](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVZlpRw5UFw).
> 
> And Kiba would like to say that despite being shunned, slammed in doors, stabbed, thrown on his ass onto concrete, punched, bitten, fought, and threatened... despite the fact that he had to make a painful deal with Itachi and a complicated arrangement with Haku and Neji... that he made a Will, got his affairs in order, didn't expect to survive, that his car got destroyed, that his nose got broken, that he was shot at, and nearly lost everything in the world that mattered...
> 
> Love is worth it.
> 
> _For ze love, you do anything._
> 
> Always.
> 
> Sincerely yours, as the curtain lowers, with a bow, with a smile, with a tip of the Tour Guide cap,  
> Much love forever always,  
> ♥Dee
> 
> Somewhere there's a stolen halo  
> I use to watch her wear it well  
> Everything would shine wherever she would go  
> But looking at her now you'd never tell  
> Someone ran away with her innocence  
> A memory she can't get out of her head  
> I can only imagine what she's feeling  
> When she's praying  
> Kneeling at the edge of her bed  
> And she says take me away  
> then take me farther  
> Surround me now  
> And hold, hold, hold me like holy water  
> Holy water  
> She wants someone to call her angel  
> Someone to put the light back in her eyes  
> She's looking through the faces  
> And unfamiliar places  
> She needs someone to hear her when she cries  
> And she says take me away  
> then take me farther  
> Surround me now  
> And hold, hold, hold me like holy water  
> Holy water  
> She just needs a little help  
> To wash away the pain she's felt  
> She wants to feel the healing hands  
> Of someone who understands  
> And she says take me away  
> then take me farther  
> Surround me now  
> And hold, hold, hold me  
> And she says take me away  
> then take me farther  
> Surround me now  
> And hold, hold, hold me like holy water  
> Holy water  
> ~*~


	26. EXTRAS

**Music Selection/Soundtrack**

(Thank you, Azazel999)

Chapter One: 45 - Shinedown

Chapter Two: Breakdown - Seether

Chapter Three: Epiphany - Staind

Chapter Four: _Un bel di_ ("One beautiful day" from Madame Butterfly)

Chapter Five: Fine Again - Seether

Chapter Six: Sex Type Thing - Stone Temple Pilots

Chapter Seven: Slept So Long - Jay Gordon of Orgy

Chapter Eight: Cold Desert - Kings of Leon

Chapter Nine: You're Goin' Down - Sick Puppies

Chapter Ten: Bad Obsession - Guns 'n Roses

Chapter Eleven: Serenity - Godsmack

Chapter Twelve: Like a Stone - Audioslave

Chapter Thirteen: Use Somebody - Kings of Leon

Chapter Fourteen: Love Like Winter - AFI

Chapter Fifteen: Always - Saliva

Chapter Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen: We're In This Together Now - Nine Inch Nails

Chapter Nineteen: Shine a Light - Wolf Parade

Chapter Twenty: Prison Sex - Tool

Chapter Twenty-One: After the Storm - Mumford and Sons

Chapter Twenty-Two: Mozart, "Requiem" and "Set Fire to the Rain" - Adele

Chapter Twenty-Three: "Amazing" - Aerosmith

Chapter Twenty-Four, Final: "Holy Water" - Big & Rich

 

**Gaara's Car**

Gaara's car is a 1956 Cadillac named, "Beast." See a fully-restored image of it [ here ](http://www.seriouswheels.com/pics-1950-1959/1956-Cadillac-Sedan-de-Ville-red-sa-le.jpg).

 

**The Rolls Royce Silver Ghost**

One of the rarest cars in the world - and one of the most beautiful.

Read about it and see picture [ here ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rolls-Royce_Silver_Ghost).

 

**Gaara's Tattoos - the ones *I* added. "Ai" is in *black* ink on the left side of his forehead as it appears in anime/manga.**

_(Note: invert Arm: Gaara's Tattoo is on his left arm and left side of his back.)_

 

 

 **Link to hear** **_Un bel di_ ** **from** **_Madame Butterfly_ **

[ Clicking here opens YouTube window ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbG1ySzPMsM).

**Club's Bliss & Break - Sketch Scans**

****

****

 

 

**Kiba Tattoo References**

****

****_Front side, thank you Gaia._

__

_Kiba's back tattoo:_

 

**Sketch of Akasuna Auto**

 

**Gaara's House Plan (Minus His Modifications)**

[ Click here to see floorplan and images ](http://www.thehousedesigners.com/plan_details.asp?PlanNum=2082).

 

**Kiba's Car! The 1970 Dodge Charger**

[ Click to see the pretty baby. ](https://www.google.com/search?q=1970+dodge+charger&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi2zreroa_VAhWG5SYKHes8Cv4Q_AUICigB&biw=1920&bih=950)

 

**Random Research/Information**

[ Sing a Song of Sixpence Nursery Rhyme Info ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sing_a_Song_of_Sixpence).

[ Placental Abruption Medical Info ](http://www.healthline.com/yodocontent/pregnancy/placental-abruption.html)

[ Technics Turntables Site ](http://www.technics.com/global/introduction/hifi-direct-drive-turntable-system-sl-1200gae/)

[ Maine Coon Cat Information ](http://fanciers.com/breed-faqs/maine-coon-faq.html)

[ Girl With a Curl Poem ](http://wonderingminstrels.blogspot.com/2001/07/there-was-little-girl-henry-wadsworth.html)

**You can read more about Saint Dymphna by clicking[ here ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dymphna) .**

 

**Fanart!**

By the incomparable Kyuubi1010/Gaia77:

(Links go to Deviant Art)

[ Kiba Cocky ](http://kyuubi1010.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2u3ope)

[ Red ](http://kyuubi1010.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2u3li2)

[ Gaara ](http://kyuubi1010.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2re45b)

[ R&B Gaara ](http://kyuubi1010.deviantart.com/art/Rhythm-and-Bruise-Gaara-203002064)

[ Rhythm & Bruise Poster ](http://kyuubi1010.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d3de54v)

[ Jody ](http://kyuubi1010.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=24#/d33c6kn)

[ Club Kiba](http://kyuubi1010.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=24#/d31dyrv)

 

Entitled, "I Never Thought" by Gaia77/Kyuubi1010  


 

My Very FIRST Fanart, Ever, by Fluister:

 

 And I have received so many more, but when Y! went down, I lost them. If you've made fanart, please, please contact me: demented.tour.guide@gmail.com

 

xxoo

<3Dee

 

**Author's Note:**

> ∞ And here it is: my favorite story in all of my fanfiction, and damn near my favorite thing I've ever written. "Monoshizukanohi at Night" - which is Chapter 4 - remains one of the things I'm most proud of writing. This story is personal and dear to me. I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for reading.
> 
> ∞ For all information about Monoshizukanohi that you never knew you wanted to know, click [HERE](http://demented-dee.livejournal.com/12226.html).
> 
> ∞ I don’t own any characters in any fandom; I just entice them into doing things they never thought possible. The originals though, if present, are all mine. I also own the world, Monoshizukanohi, and all the places therein. 
> 
> ∞ Want more? Check out my other stories here or head over to my [Demented-Ink headquarters](https://www.demented-ink.com/). And make sure to stop by [Smoke Signals](https://www.demented-ink.com/smoke-signals) and keep in touch!
> 
> Much light, more love, and many, many baked goods.  
> ♥Dee


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